Finding Trinity
by Aevylonya
Summary: Set after "Tomorrow is Yesterday". When Captain John Christopher is forced to stay aboard the Enterprise, life becomes tense for Kirk and Spock as they set out on a journey that will inevitably raise the question: Who, what and where is Trinity? K/S
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** So it feels like I've been working on this forever. And here it finally is. "Finding Trinity" has been in the works for about a year now, and had I had the time to work on it full-time, it might have been ready for posting sooner. However, life as a student of literature (or any university student, really), although wonderful, means a lot of reading and a lot of exhausted brain cells.

Anyway, I thought I would mention a few details of how this is going to work. I have ten chapters finished so far. I will therefore be posting a chapter once a week for the next ten weeks. After that, I will take a break for the summer. Posting will recommence in August/September, by which time I hope to have ten more chapters (and hopefully more) finished. I am not certain how long this story will be, but I'm guessing at least thirty chapters.

I don't want to disappoint anyone, so I'm going to give you a quick description of my writing style, just so you're prepared.

I write long fics, and they very rarely end happily. I'm a true sucker for tension and tragedy, so be prepared for that. This is, as you will have noticed if you read the summary, K/S, but it will be exquisitely slow-moving (just ask my beta), and I give no promise of an ending involving anything resembling joy. Again, this is just to make you aware of my style.

However, I am also very meticulous, and I have spent a considerable amount of time on every single chapter I post here, writing second and sometimes even third drafts before I'm happy. So I can promise you a well-written, coherent and, hopefully, exciting story.

That's enough babbling from me, I think. Last, but certainly not least, my beta is the all-glorious and totally wonderful Judin, without whom this project would probably long since have been discarded in the pile labeled: "I can't do this! Get me out now!". Her steady advice and nitpicking is crucial and utterly invaluable. She rocks my friggin' socks off.

Without further ado, then, I give you "Finding Trinity". Enjoy! And, not to be annoying, but reviews are awesome, so, you know, leave one. ;)

* * *

><p>"Damn it!"<p>

The Captain of the USS Enterprise strode the length of the room in a frenzy. At the wall he spun and stalked back the way he came, looking like he was trying to escape from something, a mounting desperation evident on his face. His Science Officer, a Vulcan, regarded his Captain with a look of distinct worry on his face, an emotional display unusual for his species. To his left stood the ship's Chief Medical Officer, his eyebrows furrowed, his lips turned down in a quizzical frown.

"Why in God's name did you take him to the Bridge in the first place?" Doctor McCoy said, his tone full of the need to understand.

Captain Kirk stopped and looked at him with a pained expression. "I don't know, Bones!"

"You don't know?" the Doctor said, disbelief etched in every word, along with the evident conviction that this answer, from a superior officer, a Captain who did not usually make pointless mistakes, was entirely inadequate. "How can you not know?"

A look of defiance, of authority, of the assurance of his position, clouded and hardened Captain Kirk's eyes. He moved right up to the CMO. His voice was cold when he replied.

"I said I don't know. It seemed right at the time."

Doctor McCoy looked unimpressed with this show of attitude. "Well, that's just not good enough, Jim!" he said sternly. "This is a man's life we're –"

"Do you think I don't know that?" Captain Kirk said furiously. "What other choice do we have?

The Doctor threw out his arms in a passion. "_Any_ other choice, Jim, _anything_ but this!"

Captain Kirk glared intently at his CMO. He breathed, slowly. When he spoke, it was in a more controlled, though extremely chilly, tone. "Give me an option, then," he said. "Something, _anything_. If you have the solution, why don't you go ahead and tell us what to do."

The Doctor opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. He stood frozen for a moment, looking like he was determined to come up with something, some heretofore unthought-of, brilliant plan that would solve all their problems. It was evident that no such plan came to him. His shoulders slumped.

"We can't take him with us, Jim," he said finally.

"Well, he can't go back," the Captain said, his jaw set, "and we can't stay."

Doctor McCoy's eyes widened, and he looked like he had just thought of something. "What about that kid of his? He needs to go back, so that he can –"

He cut himself off as he saw the Captain's expression. "No," Captain Kirk said, shaking his head. "His wife is already pregnant. His son will be born, with or without him there."

"How in the hell do you know that?"

"We accessed her medical files."

The Doctor merely blinked for a moment, as if the idea of violating someone's medical files was preposterous to him. Then he sighed and crossed his arms in obvious dissatisfaction. "So it's all just peachy then?" he said sarcastically. "Everything worked itself out so that –"

He was interrupted by the Vulcan, who, finally chiming in to the argument, had an edge to his tone not entirely compatible with his usual sense of logical detachment.

"I believe, Doctor," he said coldly, "that the Captain's decision in this matter is the only logical alternative."

"Well, you _would_ say that, wouldn't you, Spock?" the Doctor replied scathingly.

"Furthermore," Commander Spock continued, ignoring the CMO's remark, "I hardly think any part of this situation merits the description "peachy"."

It looked like it cost the Doctor quite a bit not to roll his eyes. The Captain looked at his Science Officer with gratitude evident on his face. It mixed with the sadness and frustration already present there, and made him look uncharacteristically helpless.

"Thank you, Spock," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. The Vulcan met his Captain's gaze and, though no one feature was altered, his expression became instantly and noticeably warmer. The Doctor looked at them both in huffy exasperation.

"Fine," he growled. "Don't listen to me. But you can be sure Captain Christopher won't be happy about your decision. And you can be sure he won't come quietly."

The Captain's frown deepened. It sounded like the next words cost him quite an effort to say. "He will have to be detained."

The doctor might have gasped. From his expression, it looked like he wanted to.

"Now, look here, Jim –" he started, but the Captain had apparently had enough.

"You're dismissed, Doctor," he said curtly.

"You can't just –"

"I said, you're dismissed."

The two men stared at each other for an intense moment, matching looks of stubborn determination on their faces, then the doctor, glaring quickly at First Officer Spock, as if all of this were somehow his fault, turned and left, leaving an air of heavy disapproval in his wake. The Captain looked after him for a brief moment, then he turned to Spock.

"I need to … speak with Captain Christopher," he said dispiritedly.

"I will accompany you," the Vulcan offered. The Captain looked at Spock with well-worn love in his eyes and intense gratitude in the faint curve of his mouth.

"Thank you, Spock," he said.

The two men left the room, both tense, though the Vulcan masked it more successfully than the human. Kirk led the way to Christopher's soon-to-be permanent quarters, back rigid, face set. They stopped along the way to summon one of the ship's security personnel, who accompanied them to Captain Christopher's room. As they approached it, the door slid open, and they found an unhappy Christopher sitting on the bed within. He rose as they entered, and moved towards them with military rigidity. The set of his jaw showed his determination where his eyes, fiery despite everything, told that he knew all too well why they were here, and why there was suddenly an armed guard at his door. When he spoke, it was not to ask questions.

"So that's it, then," he said, with no small amount of hostility.

Captain Kirk made a slight, twitchy movement of his head, as if he would have liked to bow it forwards, but thought better of it. He looked at Christopher with deeply felt apology. The Vulcan was, as always, firm in his stance, his hands locked behind his back; through his eyes alone could you, if you were observant enough to see it, notice a steady display of sympathy. His gaze focused unwaveringly on his Captain.

"I am sorry," Kirk said quietly. "You have to come with us."

Christopher moved right up to him, and Spock made a slight movement, as if preparing himself to step in if it should prove necessary. Kirk didn't so much as flinch, his need to retain a sense of professionalism apparently greater than his present shame.

"_You_ brought me on board!" Captain Christopher said loudly, pointing an accusatory finger at Kirk. "_You_ got me into this mess, and now you're telling me you won't let me go!" His face twisted in anger. "What kind of _incompetent_ fool –"

"I'm so sorry," Kirk said again. Christopher was understandably unimpressed.

"You're sorry," he said, his voice dark and foreboding. "Sure you're sorry. You did this. You did this to me, to my family. Tearing me away from everything I know … of course you're sorry. You _should_ be sorry, you son of a –"

The comm. unit wailed opportunely, cutting Captain Christopher's insult short.

"Engineering to Captain Kirk," the voice of Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott chirped, his cheery Scottish accent seeming exquisitely misplaced in the oppressive atmosphere of Christopher's quarters. Kirk strode over to the unit and pressed the button with a little extra, somewhat unnecessary, force.

"Kirk here," he said.

"Scott here, Sir. Report engines at full power. We are ready to attempt time-warp on your mark."

Kirk's face displayed something akin to relief. "Thank you, Scotty," he said quietly. "Fifteen minutes. Kirk out."

Captain Christopher visibly reeled. Kirk switched the button off and turned just in time to see Christopher falter. Kirk walked briskly over and grabbed his arm, which was violently pulled away from him. The twentieth century man looked like he was ready to commit murder. He made a forceful move towards Kirk, stopped midway, and seemed to deflate. He fumbled for a moment, his eyes bewildered, searching, then,

"Please," he said, his voice cracking, "let me see them. Let me say goodbye, at least."

He seemed to know it was no good before the words were out, but sometimes the desire to hang on to that last strand of useless hope is so much greater than the need for rationality. Kirk's gaze was intense as he shook his head heavily.

"I'm sorry," he said for the third time. "We don't have time, and even if we did, we couldn't risk it. You've seen too much, you know too much. We can't risk the entire future for one man."

Christopher let out a furious snarl. "_You_ can't risk!" he yelled, finally losing control. "You're a coward, and a pathetic excuse for a human being! You all are!" He glared at Kirk, Spock and the security officer in turn. Only Spock seemed unfazed. The security officer looked visibly uncomfortable, and Kirk's professional façade was deteriorating steadily. Finally, Christopher turned away, walked back to his bed, and sat down on the edge, clasping the covers in furious fists, as if he would use them to hold on to his present existence, as if they could ward off that inevitable thing, that tempestuous change, that he could not control. Outside the room the ship was buzzing with expectation, with excitement, with the longing to get home. Christopher's eyes found the floor, and then they locked back on Kirk. Hatred was etched in every line of his face.

Finally, Kirk bowed his head. "Captain," Spock said, his voice carrying in it a sturdy, reliable calm. "We are needed on the Bridge."

His words seemed to snap the Captain out of a trance. Kirk lifted his head, his eyes moving to Spock's, and he nodded, fractionally. Christopher said nothing more. He merely glared at them. When Kirk, Spock and the security officer turned and left the room, when the door was shut after them, he broke down into furious sobs.

* * *

><p>The Bridge was alive with tense expectation. The very air seemed tangible, full of voices and preparations. As Kirk stepped off the turbolift, accompanied by Spock, he felt as if he had been hit by a tidal wave. He stopped for a moment, annoyed with himself for his poor composure, particularly next to Spock, the Vulcan's back as straight as always, his manner all business. Kirk frowned slightly and mentally shook himself before continuing to his chair, sitting down and feeling a sudden and immense sense of relief. He would never forgive himself for what he had done to Captain Christopher. He would never stop regretting that one, senseless mistake. But he could not sit there and feel sorry for himself, or for Christopher. He had a duty, a purpose. He was Captain of a Starship, and that had to come first.<p>

Straightening up in his chair, he put a finger to the comm. unit. "Lieutenant Uhura," he said briskly. "Ship-wide frequency, please."

Uhura pressed a few buttons on her console, and turned to the Captain. "Frequency open, Sir."

Captain Kirk pressed the comm. unit on his chair with determination. "This is the Captain," he said, knowing as he spoke that his voice rang around the entire ship. "We are about to attempt time-warp. If our calculations are correct, this should take us back before our ship was pulled in by the black star. If everything goes according to plan, we should be back in the vicinity of Starbase 9 in a matter of minutes. This maneuver has not been previously explored, and we want you prepared and alert for any and all eventualities. All stations stand by. Kirk out."

As he finished his announcement, Kirk turned to Spock, and gave him a curt nod. Spock instantly bent over his console, entering the necessary components into the computer. His long fingers flew over the machinery. A short moment later he straightened up.

"All clear, Captain," he said. "The required data has been submitted."

Kirk nodded again. "Excellent," he said, then he pressed his console once more. "Engine room, this is the Captain. Scotty, are we ready?"

"Yes, Sir," Scotty responded instantly, "we are standing by for your mark."

"Full power, then, Scotty," Kirk ordered, and he felt the engines of his beloved Enterprise rumble as his command was obeyed. He turned to Sulu. "Full speed ahead, Lieutenant."

"Aye, Sir," Sulu said, with a grin. This kind of tricky maneuvering was, Kirk knew, Mr. Sulu's favorite part of space flight. If Kirk could trust anyone to get his ship safely out of this, it was Sulu. And Spock. And Scotty.

Despite everything, Kirk couldn't suppress a smile. He had a very talented crew.

* * *

><p><em>Captain's log, Stardate 3117.2. We successfully completed the time-warp, and are currently back in our own time. There is some small, structural damage to the Enterprise, but the Engineering department is optimistic that the repairs will be completed in a few hours. For now, we are at a stand-still. Report situation otherwise normal. No crew members injured.<em>

"Situation otherwise normal?" Doctor McCoy eyed Kirk with obvious skepticism. They were seated in one of the conference rooms, awaiting Mr. Spock and Captain Christopher, who would shortly join them for a debriefing. Kirk rose from his chair and sauntered over to the door, thinking hard. McCoy was apparently far from satisfied with this silent statement.

"I think you may have left something out of that report, Jim," he said sternly. Kirk turned to face him, frowning. "What are you going to tell Starfleet?"

Kirk felt his shoulders tense at the mention of Starfleet. McCoy, by now well-versed in Kirk's many forms of bodily expression, clearly noticed.

"Jim?" he repeated, his face betraying a slight sense of foreboding.

Kirk sighed. Blossoming within his chest was a mixture of shame and defiance. A tense moment passed, and then comprehension dawned on McCoy's face.

"You're not going to tell them anything, are you?" he said, with a touch of exasperation. Jim lowered his gaze for a moment, and then met McCoy's.

"You know what the administration at Starfleet are like, Bones," he said, his voice tinged with the faintest color of plea, and he knew part of him, despite his command, sought McCoy's approval. "They will run him through a million tests, and then try to incorporate him into the system. It'll be impersonal, cold. He'll be alone. He won't stand a chance."

McCoy shook his head. "Jim," he said wearily. "You can't just choose not to update Starfleet."

Kirk's pride flared up. "I can, Bones, and I will," he said, with feeling, then his tone softened. "It's safe to say that Starfleet has never had to deal with anything like this in the past. As far as our records show, no other Starfleet ship has ever successfully completed time-warp, which also means that no other Starfleet ship has ever had the chance to bring past life into the future. You know we will be obligated to hand Christopher over the moment we report this to the administration. There won't be anything we can do for him then. I can't – _won't_ – risk his future. No more than I already have."

McCoy did not look convinced, but his tone was patient when he asked, "What do you plan to do with him?"

"Train him," Kirk responded immediately. "I, _we_, can train him aboard the ship. He has military experience from twentieth century Earth. A good part of the elementary protocol has remained similar. In time he could become a member of our crew, and until that time, he will be a cadet, and a guest."

"And what makes you think you have the experience necessary to instruct him better than Starfleet officials?" McCoy pressed on, arms crossed huffily.

"It isn't the quality of the training we're debating," Kirk answered, "though I think we have ample resources amongst us that should more than cover the basics. I'm concerned with the personal aspect, Bones, the humanity. Haven't we often enough experienced that Starfleet is more concerned with protocol than with individual human life? That is what worries me. I don't want to risk exposing Christopher to Starfleet's brand of modern military tactics."

McCoy heaved a defeated sigh. "Very well, Jim," he said. "Have it your way. I still think we made a huge mistake in bringing him with us in the first place. But I know no one listens to me, so I might as well –" He cut himself off with a shrug just as the door to the conference room slid open, and Spock and Christopher stepped in.

Spock looked impassive, as always. Christopher was pale, his face set in a determinedly stiff expression, his back straight.

"Captain," Spock greeted as he walked towards Kirk. Kirk's attention was directed towards Captain Christopher.

"Traditionally, this would be the part where you say 'Welcome to the 23rd century'," Christopher said tonelessly, "followed by a meet-and-greet with some green men. I suppose since you had a green man accompany me here, we're halfway there."

If Christopher hadn't spoken in a tone so utterly devoid of humor, Kirk might have laughed. Spock looked displeased, but he made no sound.

"I think we've already established that I'm sorry –" Kirk started, feeling annoyed despite his pity.

"Yes, and obviously an apology really makes everything better, doesn't it?" Christopher interrupted rudely. Kirk bit back his intended reply and turned instead to his First Officer.

"Mr. Spock?"

"Mr. Scott reports repairs are proceeding according to schedule," Spock said without needing any further incitement. "Mr. Sulu is monitoring the Bridge. Lieutenant Uhura has contacted Starbase 9, and they await our arrival."

"Good." Kirk turned back to Christopher with an attempt at his usual authority. "I have decided, given the circumstances, that you should remain here for the time being." Christopher gave him a silent glare by way of a response. Kirk continued. "We felt it would be best to avoid mentioning you to Starfleet" – both McCoy and Spock looked mildly disapproving, no doubt at the inclusion of themselves in that "we" – "and I wanted to give you some training, here, so that you can adapt before –"

Captain Christopher moved forwards in a rush of violent movement. "Training?" he growled, his shoulders tensed, his eyes livid. "You took me away from my home, my world, my … my time!" His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he made another movement towards Kirk, who remained still, feeling Christopher's pain as something tangible within himself. The other man's brow contracted into a steadily deeper frown. "What about that kid you talked about?" he said passionately. "My son? What about him? Wasn't he supposed to matter in some way?"

His last words were spoken in desperation, as if he hoped that he could, somehow, make it all go back if he could only convince them of their error. Kirk lowered his gaze for a moment, desperately sorry that this couldn't have been done differently, and desperately unhappy for the next thing he knew he would be forced to say.

"Your son," he started, carefully directing his eyes back to the unhappy Air Force captain, "he … that was a problem. But –" Kirk hesitated, tried to find a way of softening the blow this was sure to be, failed, sighed "– we discovered that your wife was already pregnant."

Christopher regarded him with large eyes. "She –" he started, but he seemed for a moment too angry, or shocked, for words. His body literally shook where he stood. He looked from Kirk to Spock to McCoy and back again. His skin had become deadly pale. Kirk made to put a hand on his arm, but thought the better of it. When Christopher finally spoke, it was in a voice that was dangerously soft, impossibly calm, and unbelievably cold.

"My job was done then, huh?" he said, and he made another move towards Kirk. Spock, who had been sitting at the table, stood up, silently and swiftly. "What about that kid? She's going to raise him all by herself? You're making that boy, _my_ boy, grow up without a father?"

"I'm sorry," Kirk said for what felt like the millionth time that day, sincerity still etched in every line of his face.

Christopher's eyes seemed to flash in their anger. The two of them stood, movement suspended, feet apart. Kirk breathed slowly. Then, without warning, Christopher grabbed a hold of Kirk's command shirt and shoved him bodily into the wall. Out of the corner of his eye, Kirk saw Spock move decisively towards the other captain, his hand moving. Kirk shook his head a fraction of an inch. Spock, looking a little wary, stopped and stood behind Christopher at a distance that would allow quick action. McCoy gazed at the three of them with a mixture of worry and exasperation. Kirk moved his eyes to his assailant.

"Hit me if you think it will help," Kirk said, quietly, calmly, putting permissive authority behind his words. "I am truly sorry for taking you away from your family. None of this happened according to our intention."

For a moment, Captain Christopher looked very much inclined towards accepting Kirk's offer of punching him in the face. Several tense seconds ticked by. Then, slowly, Christopher loosened his grip on Kirk's uniform. With a last show of violence, he slammed his fist, hard, into the wall, just to the right of Kirk's head, and let out a snarl of fury before turning away. He placed both hands, palms-down, on the table and leaned forward, head bowed towards the surface, as if he wanted to smash his head into it. Kirk moved forwards and placed a hand, gently, on Christopher's shoulder.

"_What_ am I supposed to do?" said Christopher, through gritted teeth.

Kirk looked at Spock, searching for an answer, for confirmation, for something, but the Vulcan's gaze was fixed stoically on the hand on Christopher's shoulder. As he noticed Kirk looking at him, his eyes moved to the Captain, and he raised his eyebrows, as if to say that he didn't have an answer. He seemed oddly passive, and Kirk felt a twinge of annoyance. He turned his eyes back to Christopher.

"You have experience," he said, "you have skills."

Christopher, still bowed over the table, turned his head in Kirk's direction, his expression hard.

"From my time, yeah," he said. "I don't know anything about yours."

"You can learn," Kirk pressed, tightening his hold on Christopher's shoulder. "We can teach you. _I_ can teach you."

Christopher straightened up, and Kirk's hand fell to his side. The other man's face betrayed barely controlled pain, desperation on the verge of overpowering him. His eyes were intense, his mouth a thin line as he fought to maintain his dignity.

"I'd like to return to my quarters now," Christopher said finally, and Kirk, deflating a little, nodded his head.

"Of course."

Christopher instantly turned and walked to the door. He gazed at it for a short moment.

"Do you …" Kirk hesitated. "Do you know the way?"

Christopher said nothing for a moment, immobile, three feet from the door. Then he shrugged.

"Bones," Kirk said quietly. McCoy nodded.

The two of them walked briskly forwards, the doors slid open to let them pass. Spock glanced at the door, then came towards Kirk with a frown on his face.

"Might it not be advisable to send a security officer with them?"

For some reason, the question annoyed Kirk. He looked at Spock and felt strangely angry.

"Did you, Mr. Spock, happen to notice the man who was just in here?" he said coldly. Spock's eyebrows twitched downwards.

"I fail to understand –" he started, but Kirk, his anger flaring up, cut him off.

"Didn't you notice his misery?" he exclaimed, taking several, quick steps towards his First Officer. "Or are such feelings too much of a mystery for your logical, Vulcan mind?"

Kirk spat the words, which, though normally not an insult, could not, given his tone, convey otherwise. He witnessed Spock's rigid demeanor falter, just a little; for a moment, he looked confused. Kirk, all his sympathy momentarily invested in Christopher, continued, relentlessly,

"You are my First Officer. I expect, and demand, your support. You just stood there, you said nothing!"

"Jim," Spock said, quietly.

Kirk shook his head. Later, he would not remember precisely what it was that had enraged him, he only knew that Spock's lack of passion suddenly frustrated him to such an extent that he wanted the Vulcan to _feel_, something, anything. It was a wish he would soon regret.

"You're dismissed," he said forcibly.

Spock seemed to take a moment to process this abrupt discharge, then he frowned once more. Kirk was uncharacteristically pleased to see that his friend's eyes were just a little narrower, his eyebrows just a little more contracted, than usual.

"Forgive me, Captain," Spock said, his tone even, though slightly strained. "It was not my intention to cause you any irritation."

He turned and left. Kirk, fuming, slammed his hand down on the table, achieving nothing but a smarting pain in his palm and increased frustration.

An hour later found the Captain entering the Bridge, his mood abated, though he was still significantly stressed. He cast a glance at his Science Officer, who, bent over his station, did not acknowledge him. Sitting down in his chair, he pressed the comm. button and hailed his Chief of Engineering.

"Engineering, this is Captain Kirk," he said briskly. "Scotty, how are the repairs going?"

He wanted to get out of here. Standing still in space was doing nothing to improve his temper. They were only minutes away from Starbase 9, and the sooner they got there, the sooner they could continue their mission. Unexpectedly, the Scotsman's voice came across the comm. sounding unusually optimistic.

"Scotty here, Sir," he said. "The time warp created a flux in the main dilithium reactor, but it has been locked down and repairs are almost finished. I estimate full power in about fifteen minutes."

Kirk looked sideways at Sulu, who was regarding the Captain with a slightly incredulous look. He imagined his helmsman, like him, had expected to hear of some additional and heretofore unseen difficulty that would halt repairs and force them to stay here indefinitely. Kirk found himself grinning. He turned back to his comm. unit.

"You have no idea how happy that makes me, Scotty," he said gratefully.

There was the sound of a faint laugh from the Engineering Department. "Oh, I believe I do, Sir," Scotty said good-humoredly. Kirk chuckled appreciatively.

"Well, excellent," he said. "Alert me the moment we have full power. Kirk out."

Switching the comm. unit off, he turned towards Spock, hoping for a sign of acknowledgement, but the Vulcan kept his back turned. Kirk felt a slight sense of shame at his earlier outburst, but put it aside for the moment. Turning instead to his Communications Officer, he said,

"Lieutenant Uhura, please signal Starbase 9 and alert them that we expect to arrive in approximately half an hour."

"Aye, Sir."

Uhura turned to carry out her task, hesitated, turned back to Kirk. Kirk raised his eyebrows expectantly, convinced he knew what she was about to say.

"Sir," she started carefully. "We are not to update Starfleet on our current condition?"

"Of course," Kirk replied, though he understood that by "condition" she meant Christopher. He stood up and walked over to her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spock cast him a sideways glance. Uhura turned her eyes up at him.

"Naturally, I want you to make a complete report, Lieutenant," he repeated, quietly, "but I would appreciate it if you didn't mention our unexpected passenger."

Uhura looked away, and frowned slightly.

"Sir –" she started hesitantly.

"I understand if it makes you uncomfortable," Kirk said softly. "It's not an order. Just a request."

Uhura hesitated another moment. "But – why, Sir?"

"I want to train him aboard the Enterprise," he replied quickly. He noticed that Spock had finally turned around and was obviously listening to their hushed conversation, a pensive expression on his face. From the looks of the rest of the crew, they had enough with their own preparations.

Kirk continued. "I believe his best chance is with us, Lieutenant. It's not that Starfleet wouldn't do a sufficient job, it's just that –" he paused for a small moment, considering his words "– they tend to have more cause than personality. Christopher needs human contact. And I _have to_ _help him_."

Uhura looked at Kirk for another moment, a sympathetic expression on her face. Then she nodded.

"Very well, Captain," she said.

Kirk placed a grateful hand on her shoulder, and turned to meet a Vulcan gaze, which, had he not been so preoccupied, might have shown him at least as much concern and sympathy as Lieutenant Uhura's.

* * *

><p>They were underway in the allotted time, and reached Starbase 9 that evening. Kirk checked his calendar. It was Tuesday. He wanted to stay at the Starbase as short a while as possible. The longer they remained, the greater the possibility of Christopher's being discovered. He alerted his crew of their stay, and that he hoped to be shipping out in two days time. Those that wanted to take a Space Shuttle down to Earth for some brief shore leave were given the appropriate forms to fill out, and were ordered to be back by midday, Thursday.<p>

When the ship was safely docked, Kirk dismissed the majority of his Bridge crew, allowing them some rare, well-deserved, time off, and proceeded down to Captain Christopher's quarters, hoping to find him in a more receptive mood.

He was predictably disappointed.

Christopher wasn't angry anymore. The truth of his situation seemed to have become painfully clear to him, and he was utterly dejected. When Kirk entered the room, he was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling as if in a trance. Kirk moved forwards, carefully. Christopher didn't make any movement to indicate he had noticed Kirk's presence. Only when Kirk was standing right next to the bed, did the other man's eyes flicker in his direction, briefly, before they once more found the fascinating spot of ceiling they were apparently so riveted by.

"I think it would be meaningless to ask you how you're doing," Kirk said quietly. Christopher closed his eyes in response. Kirk experienced a sudden urge to take his hand, hold it, comfort him. He didn't. "I don't want to bother you," he continued, "but I thought I should inform you that we are currently docked at Starbase 9, and –"

"We're staying here two days, and then heading out," Christopher said unexpectedly. "I heard the announcement." He sat up, slowly, and turned his head towards Kirk. "Are you here to tell me I'm confined to my quarters?"

Kirk was slightly taken aback by this direct reference to the very thing he had come there to say. It didn't make the subject any less uncomfortable. He retained his professional stance as he replied,

"Yes." Christopher rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry," Kirk continued. "Seeing as we're in such close proximity to Starfleet –"

"Yeah, sure," Christopher cut across him. "You're not afraid of ignoring protocol, are you?" He looked at Kirk with a mixture of disdain and apathy. Kirk frowned.

"I'm not afraid of doing what it takes," he replied, his tone hardening.

"Where I come from, we base our service on loyalty."

"Well, I prefer to place the cause above the organization."

Christopher raised his eyebrows. Then he shook his head, letting out a short, mirthless laugh. "It baffles me that you could ever have made the rank of Captain," he said scathingly.

Kirk was quickly losing patience. "I'm good at what I do," he said curtly, then, "You will be allowed to leave your quarters once we are underway."

He turned to leave. He wanted to get out of there before his temper ran away with him. From behind him, he heard Christopher stand up, and a moment later, there was a hand on his shoulder. Kirk turned back around. Christopher looked at him with a mixture of defiance and apology – it was a very strange blend of emotions. He opened his mouth, hesitated for a moment, then said,

"I'm sorry."

Kirk, feeling instantly pacified, and a little surprised, shook his head. "It's fine," he said quietly. "You're entitled to your anger. I just hope –" He paused considering how best to phrase what he wanted to say. "I hope you can make life work here. I _know_ you can," he amended. "You're more than qualified. But I realize you'll need some time. Take it. We'll be here to help you when you're ready."

He turned to leave again, and instantly turned back. "Oh," he said, "if you need something, just press your comm. unit. I have a meeting with Starfleet in an hour, but after that, I'll be here."

Christopher frowned. "Do you usually attend to these matters yourself?" he said questioningly.

The corners of Kirk's mouth turned up in a half-smile. "I think the present situation deserves my interest," he replied.

Christopher raised his eyebrows. Kirk had the sudden urge to stay there indefinitely. He shook his head slightly, nodded at Christopher, and left the room feeling strangely winded.

Within another hour, Kirk was entering Starfleet Headquarters, in his dress uniform, feeling decidedly jittery, but maintaining a calm, focused exterior. Spock, whom he had asked to come along, stood beside him, ever the essence of composure. Seeing him helped Kirk to concentrate. It felt almost like he could channel some of the Vulcan's tranquility through himself.

They were admitted to the Admiral's office, and they both walked in, straight-backed, Spock with his hands placed firmly at his back, Kirk's hands hanging limply at his sides. He was intensely thankful that Spock had agreed to come along. Kirk knew very well that his First Officer did not take to deceit lightly, and as his Vulcan half forbade him any direct lies, he would have to be very cautious with his words. Yes, Kirk was extremely grateful to him.

The Admiral's office was large, and lavishly decorated. Relics from all parts of the universe littered the room, whole shelves filled with everything from plants to ancient religious symbols. The walls were a clean white, hung with sundry artwork, though nothing seemed particularly affected by personal taste. The entire floor was covered in a deep-red, smooth carpet. It felt vaguely like walking on a lake of blood. A large desk, shaped like a crescent, dominated the space, placed dead center. A sturdy, high-backed chair, trimmed in the same, red material as the carpet, sat behind the desk, and in the chair, sat Admiral Bryant.

He was a large man, heavily built, and looked like he would perform well in a wrestling ring. He would have seemed oddly misplaced behind a desk had it not been for the air of authority he constantly exuded. His hair, black and cropped short, was sleek, his eyes were green and intense. His red Admiral's uniform was spotless. He stood up as they entered, and seemed instantly to take up half the room.

"Captain Kirk!" he said jovially, his deep voice ringing through the room. "Commander Spock! Welcome."

Kirk and Spock traded a brief glance. Spock quirked an eyebrow superciliously. Admiral Bryant came towards them, and approached Kirk first, hand outstretched in greeting. Kirk took it with a smile. The Admiral turned to Spock and nodded amicably. Spock returned the gesture.

"I'm very happy to have you here," Bryant said, smiling at both of them in turn.

"Thank you," Kirk replied, his eyes roaming over the impressive form of the Admiral.

Bryant had only been appointed to the admiralty a year and a half ago. Kirk remembered him as a co-professor of Interspecies Protocol at the Academy, where he had been known for giving unconventional lectures that _always_ exceeded their time limit. Kirk was very thankful that Bryant had been chosen to handle their case. He had always been very friendly, not to mention very unbiased.

"So," Bryant said, after spending a moment in fond surveillance of the two of them. "You've had quite an exciting adventure, I hear!"

Spock raised his eyebrows. Kirk grinned. He could imagine "adventure" was not a term frequently used in the Vulcan's vocabulary. Kirk, for his part, responded in the positive.

"Yes," he said lightly, "it was definitely an experience."

"Come. Sit."

Bryant motioned with one, big hand towards two chairs that stood before his desk. They looked like they had been brought in for the occasion; they didn't really fit the overall décor of the place. Kirk and Spock sat down as the Admiral moved to his own chair.

"Well," he said, when they were all settled to his satisfaction, "tell me what happened. Starfleet is understandably intrigued by this incident. Time travel – it's revolutionary, Kirk!" He revealed a set of brilliantly white teeth as he smiled. "I always did expect great things from you – you were such a promising young cadet."

Kirk felt distinctly embarrassed at the exaggerated flattery. He shook his head a little, and then inclined it in Spock's direction.

"I think the praise would be more rightfully directed at my Science Officer, and my Chief of Engineering. They pulled off a little miracle."

Bryant looked slightly surprised for a moment, and Kirk believed that the Admiral's comment had not meant to exclude the efforts of Kirk's crew. A moment later, Kirk's assumption was confirmed.

"I did not mean to indicate that your junior officers were not to be praised, Captain!" he said, with a slight smile. "Only that the Enterprise, under your command, has survived more trials than any ship before it, and I think this entitles me to direct _some_ congratulations your way. Or, what say you, Mr. Spock?"

Spock raised his eyebrows, cast a brief glance at the Captain, and said, "Yes, Admiral. I quite agree. Captain Kirk is a very capable leader."

Kirk turned his gaze on the Vulcan and couldn't stop his face from breaking into a bright smile. All of a sudden he felt rather elated. He turned back to the Admiral, who nodded, looking satisfied.

"See?" he said happily.

Kirk rearranged his face into a more professional expression. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Spock looking at him. He had to work very hard not to start grinning again.

"Let's call it a combined effort, then," Kirk said conclusively, and Bryant nodded his approval.

"So," the Admiral continued, at once more business-like. "Tell me exactly what happened."

Kirk started to explain the events of their sojourn in the past. He got as far as their orbit of past Earth, and the pursuit of the one-manned jet plane, before the Admiral stopped him.

"You were seen?" he said, frowning slightly.

"Yes," Kirk answered immediately. "The ship pursued us, we evaded it, and it had to resort to a somewhat violent emergency landing."

The Admiral raised his thick eyebrows. "The pilot?" he said by way of a question.

"The pilot was unharmed," Kirk stated, carefully avoiding specific mention of Christopher, and his trip aboard the Enterprise. "However, the craft, as we later discovered, carried recording devices, and we were forced to retrieve the footage from the US Army. We were successful, and there is no permanent record of our voyage to the 1960s."

The Admiral leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his stomach. He seemed to be contemplating.

"What about the pilot?" he said, leaning forward again after a short pause. "Didn't he see you?"

Kirk considered his words for a brief moment. "We think he might have," he replied, carefully. "But you know there were many reported sightings of so-called UFO's during the course of the twentieth century, and they were mostly dismissed as fictional. According to our research there haven't been any immediately noticeable changes to our time, which leads me to believe that they're either so tiny we can't see them, or that we got away clean."

The Admiral regarded him with a scrutinizing expression. He seemed to be considering whether or not he was going to accept Kirk's explanation. Finally, he merely asked Kirk to continue.

Kirk did, describing their journey back to their own time in as much detail as he thought necessary, always avoiding mention of their unexpected passenger. When he explained the idea behind the whiplash effect that sent them into time warp, Bryant turned his attention to Spock with a deeply impressed expression. Spock responded to the look with his usual, impassive demeanor.

"You have a very resourceful crew, Captain Kirk," Bryant said, turning back to Kirk.

Kirk felt an intense sense of pride swell up within him at the thought of them all, and had to try very hard not to look too pleased.

"I wouldn't disagree with you there, Admiral," he said, once more sparing Spock a quick look. He thought he saw a corner of the Vulcan's mouth twitch.

Their meeting was concluded ten minutes later. Admiral Bryant seemed to accept the story as Kirk had told it. There had been a tense moment when Bryant had applied to Spock for the verification of Kirk's statement, strictly protocol of course, but it had nonetheless made Kirk's heart pound with unnecessary force. However, the Vulcan had confirmed it immediately, and Bryant, apparently satisfied, stood up, and walked with them out into the hall.

"It was a pleasure seeing you again, Kirk," he said informally, grabbing Kirk's hand in goodbye and looking very much like he meant it. "You too, Mr. Spock," he added. "I hope to see you again soon, though I suspect the Enterprise has better things to do than hang around here!"

He laughed good-naturedly, and slapped Kirk on the shoulder. Spock regarded this gesture with confusion, and Kirk imagined he could see Spock's brain working furiously to try to figure out what on Earth the logical explanation could be for hitting someone with whom you were apparently friendly. Kirk smiled at him. Spock raised an eyebrow skeptically.

They returned to the ship shortly after, where everything was unusually calm and quiet. Given that they didn't know when they might be back in this sector, a lot of the crew had chosen to go down to Earth, visit family, friends, take a break. Kirk could understand them. For him, however, the Enterprise and its crew were his family. Everything he truly loved was here.

Kirk looked at Spock as they moved down the uncharacteristically empty hallways towards the nearest turbolift. They walked side by side, Spock on Kirk's left, their hands so close they were almost touching. Kirk wondered what would happen if he just moved his fingers an inch to the left, touched Spock's hand. He felt a sudden, intense urge to try it, to initiate contact, consequences be damned … But, as always, his self-control won out.

"Spock," he said suddenly, coming to a halt. The Vulcan stopped too, and turned, slowly. "I wanted to apologize," Kirk continued. "I was … unfair to you, earlier. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. It was … wrong of me, and I'm sorry."

Spock looked at him for a moment with his trademark unfathomable expression. Kirk often wondered about all the things Spock might be thinking, behind that inexpressive façade. Then his friend's face loosened, and he gave Kirk one of his rare, warm smiles. Spock always smiled more with his eyes than anything else, but when they smiled, they sparkled. Kirk felt his breath catch in his throat, despite himself.

"It's quite alright, Jim," Spock said lightly.

They stood, frozen, eyes locked, for several, long, moments, then Spock inclined his head towards the turbolift.

"Shall we go to the Bridge, Captain?" he said, and Kirk felt strangely disappointed, as if he had been hoping for something that he knew would never happen.

"Yes … Spock," he said, his voice low.

* * *

><p>The next morning several things happened at once. Firstly, Kirk awoke in a frenzied sweat, with a pounding headache and labored breathing, and could only conclude that he had come down with something. Cursing his abysmal immune system, and thankful that there were no people about, he made his way, somewhat laboriously, down to Sickbay, where he promptly ran into Captain Christopher, who had, apparently, been receiving a medical examination courtesy of Doctor McCoy. Christopher took one look at him before raising his eyebrows and offering helpful testimony that "he did not look good". Kirk muttered something or other in response, he couldn't quite remember what – at that point he was on the verge of fainting – then McCoy, no doubt hearing his voice, came out, took one look at him, and immediately guided him forcefully into a bed.<p>

"Damn it, Jim, what now?" he growled, and Kirk shook his head to indicate that he had no idea.

It felt like his entire body was on fire, and yet he was shaking with cold. His clothes were drenched and stuck to his body uncomfortably. McCoy, having left his side for a moment, came back with a fully loaded hypospray, and promptly administered it with somewhat unnecessary force. Christopher, meanwhile, out of curiosity, or whatever else, had approached the bed, and was now standing over Kirk and looking at him with an expression so devoid of concern that it left Kirk feeling even colder than the fever he was doubtlessly running.

McCoy ran his medical scanner across Kirk's shivering form, and rolled his eyes as he interpreted the results.

"Go figure," he muttered. "You're down on twentieth century Earth for all of an hour, and you somehow manage to catch the flu."

Kirk raised his eyebrows in surprise. "The flu?" he said incredulously, then groaned, as a wave of pain travelled up his spine.

"Yeah," McCoy said, looking exasperated. "A particularly nasty strand, too. You'll need another one of these."

Kirk twitched as McCoy administered another, unexpected, hypo. He turned his eyes to Christopher, and found him looking almost amused.

"You think this is funny?" Kirk said, somewhat testily.

Christopher couldn't hide a slight smile curving the corners of his mouth. "It is a little amusing," he said.

"Well, I'm glad to see that my pain brings you so much pleasure," Kirk said feebly. His attempt at sounding condescending was thwarted by a wave of nausea.

Just at that moment, the doors to Sickbay slid open, and Spock strode in. His gaze focused ahead, he did not notice Kirk lying in the bed until he was halfway through his sentence.

"Doctor McCoy. It has come to my attention that –" He stopped as his eyes found his Captain. "– Jim?" he said, and had Kirk not chosen that particular moment to become slightly delirious, he might have heard the Vulcan's voice soften noticeably.

As it were, medicine and disease were now fighting a vigorous battle throughout Kirk's system, and he heard the rest of the conversation as if through a dense fog clogging his brain.

"What is ailing him, Doctor?" Spock asked.

"Apparently, he has the flu." It was Christopher's voice that answered, and Kirk heard McCoy grunt a confirmation from somewhere to his right.

"The flu?" Spock sounded slightly disbelieving.

"He must have caught it when he was down on Earth."

"Bit ironic, really," came Christopher's voice.

There was movement of feet, and then Spock's voice said, sounding atypically harsh, "I think you need to return to your quarters, _Captain_."

The rest was obscured by a vast expanse of darkness, and Kirk could only assume that he had lost consciousness. He awoke what felt like several hours later feeling much better, though upon attempting to sit up, he was met with a strong hand on his chest, which forced him back down. Kirk, expecting to see McCoy, was surprised when he discovered Spock, sitting by his bed, looking at him with obvious concern on his face.

"You need to rest, Jim," he said quietly.

Kirk had no concept of how long he had been lying there. He wondered whether Spock had been sitting there the whole time.

"How long was I out?" he asked.

"You have been unconscious for approximately three hours and fifty-four minutes, Captain," Spock replied instantly.

Kirk raised his eyebrows. He battled with himself for a moment, the question he wanted to ask fighting his desire for professionalism. Probably due to exhaustion, his curiosity won out.

"Have you been … sitting here all this time?" Kirk said, somewhat hesitatingly.

"No, Jim," Spock replied calmly. "Nurse Chapel has been here with you. I have been making myself acquainted with known planets and systems along our forthcoming heading, as well as overseeing preparations for departure."

"And?" Kirk said, recovering himself quickly, though feeling very foolish that he had even considered the possibility of Spock's sitting there for hours beside his unconscious form. Even if Spock _had_ played the role in Kirk's life that Kirk wished he would, he was still second in command, and with Kirk incapacitated, would need to see to the Captain's duties.

"Preparations are progressing according to schedule," Spock said, and if he noticed Kirk's embarrassment, he didn't make any indication of it. "There are a multitude of different systems along our impending course, many of which are already a part of the Federation. There is a Romulan Neutral Zone which borders on a few areas of unchartered space, to which, I understand, we hope to travel. We should be able to avoid it with ease."

Kirk nodded, satisfied. He moved to sit up again. This time, Spock, apparently satisfied that Kirk wasn't at death's door, didn't stop him. Kirk sat on the edge of the bed, took a quick look down himself, and almost started when he realized that someone had removed his shirt. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to him; his fever had been extremely high, and he vaguely recalled his shirt being drenched with sweat. But, for some reason, the realization that his torso was bare caused him a flush of embarrassment. He couldn't understand why, until he remembered where Spock's hand had been just a few, short moments earlier.

Kirk took very great care not to look at Spock as he stood up. He took two steps forward before the world started spinning. He put a hand to his forehead as his extremities went numb, but a strong, firm hand gripped his upper arm and kept him from falling. Kirk lifted his head, slowly, and Spock was standing in front of him, holding him steady. He felt a warm, tingling sensation run down his arm from the point of the Vulcan's touch. Gradually, his head settled. When he stopped seeing double, he pulled his arm gently away from Spock, afraid his friend would see the reaction his touch had elicited. Kirk was sure his face must be burning.

"Perhaps you should lie back down," Spock suggested, but Kirk waved a dismissive hand in his direction, still not making eye contact.

"No, thank you, Mr. Spock," he replied, curtly. His eyes briefly scoured Sickbay, and he frowned. "Where's Bones?"

"He is overseeing the transfer of new medical equipment from Starbase 9 to the Enterprise. He left as soon as he was satisfied that your condition was not critical. I believe he was hoping to be back by the time you awoke. I am sure he will wish to examine you."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "And force another couple hypos on me, I bet," he said, finally meeting Spock's gaze. The Vulcan was frowning. Kirk shook his head, smiling slightly.

"I'm _fine_, Spock," he said. Spock looked skeptical.

"Forgive me, Captain," he said, "but I believe you were about to lose consciousness just a short moment ago."

"Well, I feel much better now," Kirk said, then, as Spock's concern clearly wasn't settled, added, "I'll wait here until McCoy comes back, if it will make you happy."

Spock raised an eyebrow, and locked his hands behind his back. "I do not believe it is my happiness we are discussing, Captain," he said flatly, though his eyes twinkled, "but it would lessen my concern for your wellbeing if you allowed Doctor McCoy to make sure the illness is out of your system before exposing yourself to further stress."

Kirk raised his eyebrows, and a corner of his mouth turned up in a warm half-smile. "Well, Mr. Spock," he said. "To _lessen your concern_, I will stay here until Bones comes back."

Spock looked like he was about to tell Kirk that he was missing the point, but McCoy chose that moment to return to Sickbay, and, upon seeing Kirk out of bed, he immediately went into an angered frenzy, pointing his finger accusatorily at Spock as he approached the two of them.

"You were supposed to keep him in bed!" the Doctor said huffily. Spock arched his eyebrow. Kirk tried not to let Bones' formulation tickle him too much.

"I'm feeling much better," Kirk said, flashing McCoy a smile. McCoy was obviously far from convinced. He crossed his arms in a show of frustration, and turned to the First Officer.

"Spock?" he said, the one word clearly demanding a confirmation of Kirk's statement.

Spock looked from one to the other. "The Captain … is recovering," he said vaguely.

McCoy rolled his eyes and stalked away, returning immediately with a loaded hypo and a medical scanner. "Sit down," he ordered, and Kirk, sighing, sank back down onto the bed. He hated being incapacitated. He thrived on activity, above all things, and did not appreciate being pampered.

"Well, your fever's down," McCoy said, after a moment of careful examination, "the contagion is out of your system and your pulse is returning to normal, but your blood pressure's low and your musculature's still a little weak. I would like you to stay here for at least another hour, to make sure –"

"_Bones_, is that really necessary?" Kirk said. He took great care to keep the plea minimal, but present, in his tone.

McCoy responded with one of his trademark exasperated looks, one eyebrow raised, the other furrowed as he regarded the Captain.

"Well, since you're not infectious, or technically sick anymore, I can't force you to stay," he said reluctantly. Kirk instantly rose.

"I'll report back to you if anything feels unusual, ok?" he said. He turned his head, first left, then right, searching. "Where's my shirt?" he said after a moment's vain hunt.

"I took the liberty of getting you a fresh one," McCoy answered, flinging one of Kirk's green, V-necked shirts at him unceremoniously. Before Kirk could do any more than catch it, McCoy was at his side, administering a hypo to his still-bare shoulder. Kirk jumped and snarled, though he should have been expecting it. He looked at McCoy with narrowed eyes.

"Do you always have to do that?" he said, torn between frustration and amusement.

The Doctor grinned devilishly. "Let's call it payback, Jim," he said, "for never listening to a damned word I say."

Kirk looked slightly sheepish as he replied, "Fair enough."

He pulled on the shirt, smoothing the creases before straightening up, ready to be back in action, Captain once more. "Well, gentlemen," he said, addressing himself to Spock and McCoy, looking at each of them in turn. "I have work to do. We ship out in –" he checked the time "– approximately twenty-seven hours. Mr. Spock." Kirk turned to him. "If you would continue monitoring the Bridge for the time being – I have some business to take care of."

Spock raised two eyebrows in a knowing expression. "Captain Christopher?" he said simply.

Kirk nodded. He was too preoccupied to notice the line of discontent shaping Vulcan lips.

Without further ado, he exited Sickbay, as always when he had been sick or injured, extensively happy to be out of there. He walked down the hall to the nearest turbolift, pondering Spock's hand on his chest as he stood there by himself. He felt the corners of his mouth turn up reluctantly. The lift doors opened, and he walked briskly to Christopher's quarters, feeling the strain of the exertion just a little more than normal, and looking very much forward to being completely healthy again.

The doors to Christopher's quarters were locked when he arrived there, so he knocked, waiting and listening for a reply. The guard that stood outside the door informed him that there had not been any unusual activity, so after a minute's wait, Kirk knocked again. This time, footsteps were heard from within, and a few moments later, the door slid open with a faint _whoosh_.

Christopher's expression was devoid of emotion as he observed his visitor. "You look better," he said unenthusiastically. His military training was evident in every syllable he spoke. It was a very interesting spectacle.

"Yes," Kirk replied. "I have an excellent CMO."

He didn't wait for an invitation, but stepped past Christopher into his quarters. He wasn't going to waste time. He had made a decision while lying semi-conscious in Sickbay, and though most decisions made in states between waking and sleep aren't generally considered to be the best, Kirk had a feeling this was the right one.

"I realize I've been treating you unfairly," he said to Christopher, who promptly raised his eyebrows in a show of undisguised surprise.

"Did you have some sort of insight while you were battling the flu?" he said, a touch of sarcasm present behind the rigid tone.

Kirk ignored the remark. "If you want to inform Starfleet of your presence here, you are free to do so. And I'll get rid of the guard. I was only trying to do what I considered to be in your best interest. But I realize that it's not my decision to make. So you are … free to do what you like." He looked at Christopher, who was wearing a look of reluctant incredulity. "My offer of training and employment aboard the Enterprise still stands," Kirk supplied. "You have until tomorrow at four o'clock, which is when we ship out. If you want to stay behind, you can. If you want to come along, I will do my best to make you feel at home here, though I know the idea of this century as "home" is very far from your thoughts at the moment."

There was a moment of tense silence, before Christopher spoke. "So … I can go, then?" he said, hesitatingly, but with that tinge of unshakeable pride that seemed to be embedded deeply in his person.

Kirk inclined his head. Christopher didn't move. It looked like he was trying to figure out precisely what kind of trick this might be. There was a muscle working furiously in the set of his jaw, his eyes were alive with skepticism, his brows drawn together in a frown. Kirk regarded him with patience, letting him contemplate in peace, watching, waiting. He was confident that Christopher would make the decision to stay, yet the silent interval filled him with a kind of worry he couldn't quite define. And Kirk realized that he _wanted_ Christopher to stay. He _wanted_ him there, _wanted_ to get to know him better. He wanted his approval, and respect. He wanted his friendship. And he knew giving Christopher a choice was the only way to accomplish that. So he waited. And finally, Christopher said,

"You would train me, if I remained here?"

Kirk responded in the affirmative, stressing his earlier point – that he would do his utmost to make absolutely certain that Christopher was able to adapt and form a new life for himself, aboard the Enterprise, and eventually wherever he wanted.

"What would I do?" Christopher said wearily, and he looked resigned now, unhappy, but resigned.

"You would start out as a cadet," Kirk said. "I know that's a huge step down for you, but you need to start from the beginning. We would train you, teach you about the ship, its functions, about space travel, about everything from diplomatic relations with other planets, to our own planet's history." Kirk frowned. "It will be hard work, but I don't think you're a stranger to that."

Christopher sighed. He walked over to his bed, and sat down on the edge. "Cadet …" he said, putting a hand to his forehead and rubbing it gingerly, as if the word caused him physical pain.

Kirk walked over and stood in front of him, feeling great sympathy for this man, and simultaneously, a sense of elation. He had succeeded now, he knew that. Christopher would stay. And Kirk would make sure he kept every one of his promises. Christopher raised his head, his hand moving down to partially cover his mouth. Then he let it fall.

"Ok," he said simply. He shook his head tiredly. "I guess you're my best option."

He stood up again, evidently making an attempt at his usual professionalism. His back straight, his expression blank, he said, "When do we start?"

"As soon as you feel ready," Kirk replied.

"I'm ready," Christopher said instantly.

Kirk frowned. "Are you sure?"

"I need to do something other than sit around and feel sorry for myself. I'm going to go insane if I don't … do something."

"We can start tomorrow, if you like," Kirk said.

Christopher looked at him for a moment, and then nodded. He looked exhausted. Kirk gave him a small smile, and left him to rest.

As he walked down the halls, he suddenly felt very tired, too. It took him a moment to remember that he had spent half the day unconscious, and that his body was still recovering from the flu. He had forgotten. He smiled again. He was still smiling when he entered the turbolift.

They left on schedule the next day, Kirk fully recovered from his bout of illness, Spock at his usual position at the Science Station, Scotty making the Enterprise purr down in Engineering, McCoy on the Bridge to assure himself that nothing exploded on their way out of the dock, Sulu grinning as he gazed out on the endless expanse of starry sky he would soon be navigating through, Uhura monitoring communications, Christopher, silent and resigned, by the turbolift entrance, regarding the entire spectacle with an interest he could not disguise. Kirk turned his eyes, briefly, to him. Christopher returned the gaze, and Kirk smiled reassuringly.

They cleared the docking area, and Sulu turned to the Captain. "Heading, Sir?" he said.

"Heading three-oh-two, mark four," Kirk said, looking out into the universe with excitement. "Warp factor one, Mr. Sulu. Steady as she goes."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Next chapter will be up in one week. Leave a review and let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks very much to those of you who reviewed - I really appreciate it!

Here's chapter two for you.

* * *

><p>An anomaly.<p>

There had been an anomaly. Everything was displaced, uprooted, like a crack in the fabric of space, pushing and pulling the surrounding elements in a chaotic dance that turned one side into another and broke the bonds between them.

An error.

Spock wrapped his mind carefully around himself, a thick strand of sense, coiled, resilient, awake. He had disciplined himself for years, nurtured a connection with his inner self that enabled him to focus. Something was jarring against his perfect composure. It was unsettling.

He opened his eyes to gaze up at the grey ceiling of his quarters, and carefully bit back a frustrated sigh. His brows contracted, minutely, and he stood up, swiftly, gracefully, straightening his uniform shirt as he moved towards the door. His meditation had been unsatisfactory. It had been a recurring factor since the Enterprise left Starbase 9 two weeks ago. He had attempted to pinpoint the cause, but he believed he already recognized it all too well. He felt tense, his muscles, his system, on edge. He also vaguely registered a feeling of … he didn't believe Vulcans _could_ be stressed, but when completely honest with himself, he couldn't help but admit that stress might very possibly be the sensation he was striving relentlessly _not_ to feel.

The door slid open as he approached, and he stepped out into the hall, face perfectly arranged, expression neutral. His inner upheaval was not for the world to see. Feeling it was shameful enough.

His pace was brisk as he entered the turbolift. Once inside he clasped the lever firmly, turning it decisively as he said, "Bridge". A moment later, the doors opened to reveal the always busy operations center. Spock's eyes were instantly directed towards the command chair. He was unsurprised, albeit faintly disapproving, to see, not Captain Kirk, but Chief Engineer Scott occupying the seat of control. He raised an eyebrow as he stepped forwards.

"Lieutenant Commander," he said. Scott turned in his chair, and immediately sprang up.

"Mr. Spock," he acknowledged, with his customary toothy grin.

"I assume the Captain is –"

"Trainin' Christopher, Sir."

Spock arched an eyebrow and repressed a wave of annoyance as he moved over to the Command Chair which Mr. Scott obligingly vacated for him. Spock sat down and took a moment to look out of the view screen at the vast expanse of empty space.

The education of former captain, now Cadet, Christopher, was a strain on all the officers' schedules, though no one was quite so involved as Captain Kirk. Within a week, the Captain had been noticeably exhausted. Naturally, Jim was not one to admit to fatigue, but Spock knew the Captain well, and the slightly tired line of his shoulders did not go unnoticed by the Vulcan. He had attempted to confront his friend, but Jim had not been responsive to his advice.

"_Damn it, Spock!" Jim said fiercely, his eyes blazing with a mixture of determination and guilt. "This was _my_ mistake! I owe him … I …"_

_The Captain faltered, his shoulders slumped, his neck bent forwards._

"_Spock …" he whispered. The Vulcan stepped forwards and placed a gentle hand on Jim's shoulder. Jim looked up and frowned. Spock removed the hand then, feeling an unwelcome sense of shame. He pushed it aside, placed his hands securely behind his back._

"_You cannot place all blame upon yourself," Spock said in a voice that was a great deal more calm than he felt._

_Something like a snarl escaped the Captain's lips, then he threw up his hands and stalked over to his desk, sitting down behind it and putting his head in his hands. Curious. Spock stood still, waited. Finally, Jim raised his head and spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically small. The sound of it caused Spock another twinge of pain he would later have to deny._

"_What part of this wasn't my fault, Spock?" he said, quietly. "_I_ showed him the ship. Why did I do that? I could have sent him away, kept him in the transporter room, anything – _anything_ – but that."_

"_Captain –" Spock tried, but Jim wasn't listening._

"_I sacrificed his entire life, and for what?"_

"_Jim," Spock said softly._

"_Just because I found him … intriguing …"_

_Jim trailed off, and Spock noticed an intense pressure in his chest, as if part of it had just been filled with lead. Unable to keep his outward focus, he turned his head down and closed his eyes, just for a moment, warding the unpleasant sensation off. It was not easy. Jim did not notice._

He had avoided all mention of Cadet Christopher since that moment, just three days ago. He knew the reaction the name elicited reflected poorly on his Vulcan ancestry.

Jim found him _intriguing_. Spock found the entire situation unnervingly irritating.

Spock put these thoughts aside. He knew his moment gazing at the stars had already exceeded its proper time limit. With a slightly greater effort than usual, he channeled his mind towards the more useful enterprise of acquiring reports from the different stations regarding their current progress. The confirmation that everything was proceeding as expected brought on an illogical feeling of discontentment, as if his subconscious would have liked some task with which to occupy itself. However, the lull in activity did not subside long.

Spock had been in the seat of command less than half an hour when an indistinct clang sounded from the helm. Spock saw Lieutenant Sulu frown as he gazed at his controls.

"Report, Mr. Sulu," Spock immediately ordered. Mr. Sulu shook his head as he answered.

"Nothing, Sir." His frown became more pronounced as his eyes scanned his equipment. "Everything normal." He turned to look at Spock. "I think it must just have been a slight malfunction."

Spock raised an eyebrow skeptically. After several years aboard Starfleet ships he had learned not to put too much weight on the assumption that mysterious noises were _just_ anything.

"Monitor your controls closely, Lieutenant," Spock said. Mr. Sulu nodded.

Spock rose and moved to the Science Station, where he promptly bent over his scanner, searching for anything that might have caused the unknown disturbance. There was nothing. He straightened up just as the turbolift doors slid open and the Captain, accompanied by Cadet Christopher, entered the Bridge. They seemed to be in the middle of a conversation. Two weeks had seen a great change in Cadet Christopher, who appeared to be taking to his new life with unprecedented enthusiasm. The friendship between him and Jim had evidently grown.

"It's an entirely different situation when you're in the middle of it, I assure you," Jim was saying, with a sideways grin.

"Whatever you say, I still think it sounds like you could use a better surveillance system," the Cadet replied, with a smirk.

Jim sent him another, warm smile, and placed a hand on his shoulder, briefly, before turning to Spock, the smile still on his face, his eyes expressing greeting. Spock felt the urge to smile back, despite himself. He placed his hands firmly behind his back.

"Mr. Spock," the Captain said jauntily.

"Captain," Spock replied, knowing he was not entirely successful at keeping the affection out of his voice. Jim didn't seem to notice. Spock attempted to convince himself that this pleased him.

"Anything to report?"

Jim moved towards him, as was his habit, and Spock made a curt nod.

"Yes, Captain," he said.

He proceeded to relate the incident with the inexplicable noise. Jim frowned. Cadet Christopher, all the while, stood behind the Captain with a look of interest on his face.

"Hm," Jim said as Spock finished. "It sounds like a simple malfunction."

"Yes, Captain," Spock concurred. "However –"

"Given our previous track record with strange, seemingly unexplainable occurrences," Jim interrupted him with a grin, "it might be a good idea to keep an eye open."

Spock gave him a slight smile. "My thoughts exactly," he said.

Jim's eyes lingered on him for a moment, then he turned and moved to the Command chair, sitting down with all his usual authority. Cadet Christopher moved over to him and stood by his side, gazing around the Bridge with all his usual curiosity. He also looked at Jim quite a lot, a fact Spock vainly tried to dismiss. Spock moved over to the Captain's other side, and placed a hand on the back of his chair. Jim immediately turned towards him and flashed him another smile.

It was an ordinary, friendly greeting that Spock should have been able to dismiss as such, but try as he might to control that ever-increasing flux of passion within him, his heart _would_ skip a beat when his captain, and friend, looked at him with that twinkle in his eye.

"How is the training progressing?" he said, in an attempt to distract himself from this entirely human emotional conflict.

Jim turned to Cadet Christopher with a similar smile on his face. Spock found that he liked the expression much less when it was applied in that direction.

"It seems to be going very well," Jim said happily. The Cadet grinned. Jim turned back to Spock. "We've been continuing our exploration of the ship and its functions. Christopher has quite a mind for remembering details. We stopped by Engineering and let Scotty quiz him for a bit, and I believe Christopher has a willing teacher whenever he wants one. I think Scotty wanted to kidnap him."

He cast a fond glance at Christopher, and Spock raised an eyebrow. Christopher laughed – it was a soft, breezy sound.

"I think the Captain is exaggerating, just a little," he said modestly. "But I do feel I am making progress, Commander Spock. I hope I can make the rank of Ensign quickly, so that –"

"I think you'll find that takes years, Cadet," Spock interrupted him, feeling a necessary duty to point this out to him, mindful that Jim, in his obvious desire to see Cadet Christopher make it in this century, might have exaggerated his possibilities.

The Captain turned to him with a frown. "Normally, yes, Mr. Spock," he said, then turned back to the Cadet, "but I think we can make an exception, just this once. I think Christopher will learn better while performing actual duties."

"Yes." The Cadet was quick to agree.

"And," Jim continued, "it's not like he doesn't have any knowledge of aircraft, procedure, the general system."

"As it turns out, a lot of things are very similar," Cadet Christopher shot in.

"And many things are very different," Spock said quietly.

Jim frowned in earnest now, and Spock could see that he had displeased him. However, he believed the Captain to be something less than disinterested in this case, and, as such, it was his unequivocal duty to point out those elements in Jim's plan for Cadet Christopher that were illogical. So he stood with his hands behind his back and a neutral, professional expression on his face.

"We mean to encourage, Mr. Spock, not discourage," the Captain said, his tone stern. Spock was unmoved.

"False encouragement, Captain, can be just as much of an obstacle as dissuasion."

"I do not speak of false encouragement," Jim replied, "but of hope, of something to work towards. Christopher knows this will take time –" he glanced at the Cadet, who nodded "– but he also displays a firm intention of succeeding. Besides, Mr. Spock, training a large group of very young Cadets is one thing, and does, as you say, require years, both to give them, collectively, all the information they need, and to allow them time to mature. Training one, grown man, who, when we teach him, will have all our attention focused on him alone, is another thing altogether. He is getting most of his experience hands-on, and do not forget, he is already as old as I am, with plenty of life experience, and all the maturity he needs."

Spock cast a quick glance at Cadet Christopher, who was smiling slightly, apparently pleased. The Captain had made this speech with obvious dedication, and Spock knew, though his point had been made, that he would not win this argument. So, he inclined his head slightly and said,

"Forgive me, Captain. I only wished to offer my advice."

Jim's expression softened. "You know I always welcome it, Spock," he said quietly.

Spock nodded slightly, and returned to his station with a distinctly pleasant feeling.

An hour elapsed without any significant changes – they flew through space, watching the universe pass by as they moved towards their destination. Cadet Christopher was at the Captain's side, who pointed out to him the different functions and procedures of the command center of the ship. Occasionally they would both move around the Bridge so that the Cadet could study the manifold operations and systems.

Spock kept his attention focused on his scanner, determined that he would discover some explanation for the sound they had heard earlier. He directed his equipment in turn at space outside, at the ship, both inside and outside, took readings of the crew and came up with absolutely nothing. Had he not been a Vulcan, he might have been frustrated.

At the expiration of an hour he straightened up and moved over to the Captain, who was leaning his head in his hand and staring out at the stars as if mesmerized. He did not react as Spock approached him, and only when Spock placed a gentled hand on his arm did he respond, starting and turning his head abruptly and jerkily in Spock's direction.

"Spock!"

Spock raised an eyebrow, and Jim's face rapidly returned to normal. He shook his head and smiled.

"I think I was daydreaming," he said airily.

Spock sidestepped the small glint of curiosity he felt as to what the Captain might have been daydreaming about, and said, "I believe you are exhausted, Jim."

Jim frowned. "I'm fine, Spock."

Spock knew this illogical need to seem invulnerable in his Captain was a trait that would, someday, put him past the brink of collapse. He also recognized this need as something that was, to a certain extent, necessary to maintain a firm captaincy. He had seen the same attribute in Captain Pike, when he had served under him, and he knew it was one shared by many other Starfleet captains. However, he would not let his friend drain himself completely without having a say about it. So he leaned a little closer to keep his words private, and said,

"Jim." The Captain, who had removed his gaze, once more, to the stars, redirected it towards Spock with an expression that betrayed defiance and authority; apparently he knew what Spock was about to say. This would not stop the Vulcan from saying it. "You are wearing yourself thin," he stated firmly. "You cannot spend every available waking moment in training and expect to perform well in your other duties."

The Captain's frown deepened. "Do you have a complaint, Mr. Spock?" he said, his tone dangerous. Spock did not think he would ever fully understand this human quality of taking simple advice as an insult.

"I have no complaint, Captain," Spock assured him. "I am simply concerned for your wellbeing."

"Well, I'm _fine_, Spock!" Jim said fiercely. Spock was unmoved.

"Forgive me, Captain," he said calmly, "but I have too high a regard for your aptitude to accept that daydreaming in the middle of your shift constitutes anything resembling your normal standards. Therefore, your assertion that you are, as you put it, _fine_, must be erroneous."

The Captain opened his mouth, and promptly closed it again. He looked at Spock for a long moment, wearing an expression the Vulcan couldn't read.

Just then, the unfamiliar sound once again penetrated the silence. It was like a deep gong which resonated for little more than a second before being abruptly silenced. Just as last time, Mr. Sulu made a quick surveillance of his controls, and then turned to the Captain with a confused expression.

"I can't understand it, Captain," he said. "There's nothing there."

Spock moved over to his own station and, just as last time, bent over his scanner in the hopes of finding some explanation, but, just as last time, he was disappointed.

"The readings are normal," he confirmed. Jim frowned, and stood up.

"It … doesn't make any sense," he said. "Have you checked –"

"Believe me, Captain," Spock interrupted him, "every logical alternative, and every illogical alternative, in short, everything remotely conceivable, has been examined, and re-examined, thoroughly. There is nothing that can account for the disturbance."

"Then what –"

"My best hypothesis is that the disturbance is caused by an outside force, one that our instruments are, for some reason, unable to register."

Jim frowned. "And its purpose?" he demanded.

Spock arched an eyebrow. "That, Captain, would be mere guesswork."

Jim crossed his arms and stepped towards him. "Then why don't you venture a guess, Mr. Spock?" he said, his tone laced with impatience.

Spock felt a small wave of irritation. He did not approve of guesswork, and he did not see what the benefit of his speculation might be. In all likelihood, any conjecture he made at this point, would turn out to be incorrect. So he clasped his hands together behind his back and said,

"I cannot make any remark that will give you any security at the moment, Captain. I can gather the readings and information we have so far, and attempt to ascertain some sort of pattern."

The Captain regarded him silently for a small moment, then he nodded.

"I think that's a good idea, Mr. Spock," he said quietly. "Why don't you go down to the main science lab and see what you can find out."

"Yes, Sir," Spock replied. He moved over to his station, gathered some information disks and moved towards the turbolift doors. Just as the doors slid open, he felt a gentle hand on his arm, and he turned around.

"Take Christopher with you," Jim said, and this was so far from what Spock had expected that it actually took him a few moments to comprehend the request.

"Cadet Christopher?" Spock managed, after several somewhat tense seconds.

"Yes," Jim said casually. "He has yet to get a lesson from you, and I want him exposed to everything."

Spock took great care not to frown. "Are you certain this is the appropriate time?" he said delicately.

The Captain placed his hands on his hips and arranged his face in what Spock understood to be a stern expression.

"Very well," he said resignedly.

The Captain then motioned for the Cadet, who had been making himself acquainted with the helm. He made a quick nod of thanks to Lieutenant Sulu, and hurried over to the turbolift.

"I thought you could accompany Mr. Spock to the science lab," Jim said. Cadet Christopher raised his eyebrows, and looked at Spock. Spock kept his eyes on Jim, who continued. "Spock can show you how the equipment down there works, and how he performs various analyses using the computers."

Cadet Christopher made a small shrug, as if to say that this was acceptable, whereupon Spock turned and moved into the turbolift. The Cadet followed him, and as the turbolift doors closed, Spock kept his eyes on Jim.

Spock felt the obligation to bring the Cadet with him as a serious inconvenience. However, as he was forced to bring him along, he would have to do his utmost to make sure the Cadet received a decent understanding of at least some of the instruments down here. As he approached the computer in the main science lab a few minutes later, he took out his information disks, and showed them to Cadet Christopher, who looked at them with an expression of great skepticism. Spock ignored this.

"There are two main ways of feeding information into the computer," Spock said, and the Cadet moved closer, so that he could see the different components more clearly. "One is by voice transference. The other is by inserting these disks into the machine. The disks can contain a vast amount of information, and are, thanks to their small size, very useful."

Cadet Christopher took a disk from him and surveyed it with a frown. "They look like they're made of plastic," he said critically. "Are you sure these aren't just for decoration?"

Spock looked at the Cadet, one eyebrow raised skeptically. He was unsure whether Cadet Christopher was attempting to be amusing or if he was just disapproving.

"The disks are made of a highly durable and simultaneously light material," he responded seriously, and to his frustration, a corner of the Cadet's mouth turned up in a sly half-smile.

"I was making a joke," he said lightly, and Spock's annoyance increased.

"I think your timing leaves something to be desired," he said, and turned back to the computer. "We insert the disks in the rectangular slots you see here. There are several of these slots so that we are able to maximize the amount of information the computer receives in a given moment."

"Does humor have no effect on you, then, Mr. Spock?" the Cadet said, as if he had not been listening to a word of Spock's speech. He turned back to the Cadet with a frown.

"The Captain asked me to instruct you on the scientific and analytical uses of the computer," Spock replied, his tone hardening. "If you wish to learn about Vulcan customs, I will be happy to instruct you at a later time."

"Geez, when you say the word "happy" I want to kill myself," Cadet Christopher said, elevating his eyebrows in a brief, condescending movement.

Spock felt his irritation intensify. He could not understand this crude man, nor could he begin to fathom why the Captain would find him, of all people, _intriguing_. Locked behind his back, Spock's hands clenched into fists, though he kept his face void of emotion. The two men glared at each other for a long moment. Then Cadet Christopher's face loosened.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I guess you're just … strange to me. I'm not used to aliens, after all."

Spock raised an eyebrow superciliously. Cadet Christopher hurriedly shook his head.

"Oh, right," he said. "_Alien_ probably isn't the appropriate term, is it?"

"I believe _Vulcan_ satisfies any descriptive needs," Spock offered, his annoyance, though ever-so-slightly placated by the human's apology, by no means gone. "Shall we return to the more useful enterprise of following the Captain's orders?"

Cadet Christopher surveyed him for another moment, and then nodded. Without any further ado, Spock turned back to the computer and inserted one of the disks he had brought with him from the Bridge. Running his fingers swiftly over the console he entered the necessary data, and then inserted the second disk. He pressed a few additional buttons, all the while letting Cadet Christopher know what he was doing.

"Computer," Spock said when the preparations were complete, "compare and contrast the two recordings."

"Working …" came the computer's monotonous reply. They waited a moment, then, "Computed."

The computer proceeded to relate a list of mundane and unnecessary details ranging from their speed to the outer hull's makeup. Spock quickly silenced the machine, and narrowed his search.

"Relate conditions in space for both scenarios," he said evenly.

The computer took another moment to analyze. The answer that followed was as expected: nothing out of the ordinary. Spock spent another half hour feeding the computer every question he could think of, without any other result than an increased sense of fatigue, a sensation which irritated him greatly since his Vulcan physiology and discipline should eliminate such weakness.

Finally he removed both disks and resisted the urge to shatter them against the walls.

"May I?" Cadet Christopher said, holding out his hand for the disks.

Spock wordlessly handed them over, assuming the Cadet wished to inspect them.

"They're very light," he said as he turned them over in his hands.

"Yes," Spock said, unable to keep a trace of impatience out of his tone, "they are –"

"– made of a light and durable material," the Cadet interrupted him, his eyes still fixed on the disks. "You told me."

He handed the disks back unceremoniously.

"We should return to the Bridge," Spock said as he took them, and he moved towards the door. Cadet Christopher wordlessly followed.

They did not speak as they moved down the halls. Spock was thankful for the silence, but he noticed that the Cadet looked uncomfortable. Spock had observed this trait in many humans. The term "uncomfortable silence" was a phenomenon completely alien to him. If there was nothing of importance or interest to say, silence must be a highly equitable alternative.

They entered the Bridge some minutes later, and both men made their way over to the Captain.

Jim turned to face them as they approached. He made an inquiry as to Spock's success with the computer, but with an expression that plainly stated his lack of anticipation. Spock would have reported instantly had he found something of note, and Jim knew this. Jim turned instead to Cadet Christopher, a small smile on his face.

"Did you learn something?" he said. The Cadet rolled his eyes. The reason for this was unknown to Spock, though he suspected the Captain and Cadet Christopher were enjoying what he knew was termed an "inside joke".

"Mr. Spock is a very meticulous teacher," the Cadet answered after a small moment.

Captain Kirk turned his eyes on Spock with a grin. "Of course he is," he said. "Well, I'm glad to say something good came of –"

He broke off mid-sentence as there was another resounding clang. This time, it seemed like the noise was coming from outside the ship. Spock walked briskly over to his scanner, without any real expectations of seeing anything there, but before he was halfway, the ship lurched violently, and he was forced to grab onto the banister to keep himself from falling.

The entire Bridge crew looked at each other, similar, questioning expressions on all of their faces. The ship lurched again, and Captain Kirk instantly ordered the shields up, as well as a Red Alert, and the cacophonous wail of the alarm added to the already stressed atmosphere of the control centre.

As the ship began to vibrate beneath them, Lieutenant Sulu, moving his hands furiously over his controls, called out,

"Course changing, Sir! Now eighty-seven mark four, and moving further out."

The Helmsman had not but said this when a third, and distinctly more powerful lurch pulled them in a new direction entirely. The ship's speed increased, and they were sent plummeting through space, towards and unknown location, pulled by something they could neither define nor see.

Lieutenant Sulu threw himself at the controls, grasping them with all his might, his face screwed up in concentration, little beads of sweat forming near his hairline. The Captain sat rigidly in his chair, hands clutching his armrests, knuckles white, though his face displayed all his habitual authority and security. Spock knew it would take a lot for Jim to actually show fear, but he could tell that the situation had his Captain worried.

"Spock!" he said through gritted teeth, as the ship shook beneath them. "Readings!"

Spock, holding on to his console with both hands to keep himself steady, bent swiftly over his scanner. Nothing. Still, there was nothing. He noticed a trace of frustration building up within him. This was completely unheard of. Something was pulling them, _dragging_ them, off course, _something_ had them under its power, whether it be a natural phenomenon, or something else entirely, and yet the monitors showed nothing, all their equipment came up with _nothing_.

He turned back to the Captain, who wore an impatient expression. "Still nothing, Captain," Spock said, shaking his head. "I cannot understand it. Our instruments do not show –"

"It can't be _nothing_, Spock!" Jim growled. "Is there any possibility of a malfunction, something you overlooked?"

Normally, this lack of faith in his scientific skills would have offended him, but as an unnoticed malfunction was, at the moment, the only apparently logical explanation for what was going on, he merely turned back to his station and set to work checking his instruments, yet again. Meanwhile, he heard Jim address Uhura, the urgency becoming gradually more prominent in his voice.

"Lieutenant Uhura!" he said fiercely. "Has there been any attempt made at contact?"

Uhura, looking bewildered, shook her head. "No, Sir, nothing."

"You think someone is out there, Captain?" Ensign Chekov panted, working furiously along with Lieutenant Sulu, trying to return the Enterprise to its original course.

Captain Kirk shook his head. "I don't know," he said edgily. "Uhura, friendship messages. All frequencies."

"Yes, Captain."

"And contact Starfleet. Tell them we're being pulled off course, and that we don't know where, or by what, or whom. Tell them we're doing everything we can to remedy the situation, but that there is a great possibility –" He broke off for a moment, and as Spock turned, briefly, to regard him, he saw that all the eyes of the Bridge crew were fixed on the Captain "– there is a possibility," he repeated, "that we might be unable to free ourselves."

He turned his head forwards. "Sulu, report on the helm!"

"Responding, Sir," Mr. Sulu said, his voice increasingly panicky, "but poorly. I'm hard over, and we're just barely turning."

Jim let out a faint growl and pressed a finger, urgently, to his console. "Scotty!" he said loudly.

"Scotty here, Captain," came the instant reply.

"I want full power to the engines – use everything you've got. Full reverse. I want control of this ship!"

Across the comm., Scotty's voice sounded strained. "I'm already givin' it all the power I think she can stand!" he said. "She's threatenin' overload, Captain. Whatever's pullin' us onwards is powerful. If we give it anymore, we risk implosion!"

Jim slammed a furious fist into his chair. "Damn it!" he exclaimed. He put a hand to his forehead and rubbed it furiously. Spock watched him warily, and saw the resolution form as if he could see into his Captain's mind. He knew James Kirk could not let his ship be taken over by a strange force without giving absolutely everything to stop it.

"Scotty," Jim said after a quick moment, sounding calmer now, though his eyes still betrayed a fierce determination to get them all out of this. "We're going to have to risk it. Give it everything you've got. Full reverse."

"Captain …" Scotty was clearly hesitant.

"I said full reverse," Jim repeated, raising his voice just a notch.

A small pause, then, "Aye, Sir."

"Helmsman," the Captain continued, and Mr. Sulu moved his hands swiftly over his controls. "On my mark."

Scotty's voice came across the comm. "We're ready to give it a go, Captain. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Captain Kirk ignored the warning, his jaw set, his eyes alive with resolve. "Now, Mr. Sulu," he said. "Everyone hold on."

Spock sat down, gripping his chair tightly with one hand, as his other flew across his own console, willing something, _anything_ to appear there, that would give him some small indication of what was happening to them. He saw the rest of the Bridge crew prepare for what promised to be a turbulent withdrawal. Beads of sweat were running down Lieutenant Sulu's face. The helmsman took a deep breath. Then he put the Enterprise in reverse.

The whole ship made a terrible, crunching noise, as if it were being torn apart, and tilted suddenly and violently sideways. Several crewmen were torn out of their seats, falling to the floor with sounds of discomfort. Spock's grip on his chair ensured his own safety, but with horror, he saw Jim fly out of his chair, crash into the banister opposite, and tumble to the ground with a terrible groan of pain.

Only the violent movement of the ship kept Spock from jumping to his feet and running to his friend. Fortunately, Mr. Sulu had also managed to retain his seat, and, face now chalk white with the strain, he hung on to the console with one hand and navigated fiercely with the other, forcing the ship backwards, away from the unfamiliar pull.

And the ship did move, for a moment. Shuddering dangerously, threatening overload with every inch of progress, the Enterprise slid backwards, slowly. Mr. Sulu, however, did not look happy, and Spock could see why. The engines were rapidly overheating. The immense effort of forcing the ship backwards was costing it copious amounts of energy. They could not keep it up for long. As the ship started to show signs of power shortage, the erratic tossing and turning lessened, and Spock was able to spring from his chair, hurrying over to where his Captain lay, unconscious, on the floor, just as the ship shuddered one last time, and then came to a full and sudden stop.

If Spock had not already crouched down beside Jim, he would probably have fallen on top of him. Indeed, many of the crewmen who had managed to pick themselves off the ground, promptly lost their footing again. Spock did not have time to worry about them. One glance at his Captain, told him that Jim was in need of medical care. He was pale, and sported a long cut which stretched from his hairline to just above his left eye. It was bleeding profusely. Spock hurriedly tore off his blue uniform shirt and, ripping off a sizeable piece of it, pressed it down, hard, to Jim's forehead in an attempt to stop the increasing flow of blood. Jim's color would indicate that he had already lost too much.

"Lieutenant Uhura," he said as he did this, his voice sounding uncharacteristically ragged. "Signal Doctor McCoy. Immediately. The Captain is hurt."

His hands throbbed as he felt the distant pulse of Jim's heartbeat, emanating from the wound. "Jim," he said, softly, then, more loudly, "Captain! Captain, can you hear me?"

A faint sound escaped Jim's lips, and he stirred.

"Jim," Spock said once more, feeling so much more than concern as his hands pressed against his friend's skin.

There was a movement of the eyelids. Spock felt his heart pounding painfully, his fear and desire mingling in a furious, highly illogical dance. He realized, suddenly, that with the Captain immobilized, he had a duty to perform. For a moment, he could not believe that he had forgotten it. He frowned. Then he hurriedly signaled one of the crewmen over, a young Yeoman by the name of Waltham. She moved quickly and dropped down next to the Captain, her hands grabbing hold of the makeshift bandage before Spock had so much as opened his mouth to form the request. Thankful for the Yeoman's preparedness, Spock walked swiftly over to the command chair and sat down. He pressed the comm. deftly and spoke into it, his voice still carrying that aberrant, agitated quality.

"Mr. Scott," he said forcefully. "Mr. Scott, this is First Officer Spock, please come in."

There was no sound. Spock gave it a short moment before trying again.

"Bridge to Mr. Scott, please acknowledge."

Another pause. Then a wheezy, worn voice came across the intercom. "Scott here, Sir."

Spock frowned again. "Mr. Scott, you do not sound well. Please report on your status."

"The damage is bad, Mr. Spock," Mr. Scott said. "The dilithium crystals are almost completely burnt out. We have only just enough to maintain life support. There was a violent power surge down here – many of us were badly burnt. But no casualties."

"Is there any chance of regaining power?" Spock asked, knowing the answer would be negative.

"No, Sir," Mr. Scott said wearily. "We need to replace the crystals, and I don't see how we're gonna do that out here."

"Very well, Mr. Scott," Spock said. "Take care of your personnel – get those that need medical attention to Sickbay, and whatever repairs you can manage, commence as soon as possible."

He switched off the comm. and turned to Uhura. "Report, Lieutenant. Are there any casualties?"

Uhura, holding a finger to her earpiece, shook her head. "No casualties, Sir, but several injuries. All sections report life support systems functional."

Spock turned back, feeling a small sense of relief, which was quickly overshadowed by the gravity of their situation. They were stuck, in the middle of space, with no power to move forwards, and no opportunity to go back. It was not without appreciation of the inherent irony that Spock realized their best option was the force from which they had so lately attempted to escape. Whatever it was that had been pulling them forwards might turn out to be sentient life. If it was, this might be their only chance for survival. Out here, without any additional power, life support would eventually fade, and they would all surely die.

At that moment, Doctor McCoy, looking distinctly ruffled, stepped out of the turbolift, followed closely by Cadet Christopher, who, Spock saw, looked no worse for the wear.  
>Aside from a slightly singed shirt, he seemed to have gotten through the ordeal relatively unscathed. As soon as she saw McCoy, Yeoman Waltham swiftly beckoned him over, and Doctor McCoy hurried to where Jim lay, slowly regaining consciousness. Cadet Christopher, seeing the Captain wounded, joined the doctor with brisk steps, crouching down next to him and wordlessly taking over for the yeoman, holding strong hands to Jim's forehead.<p>

"Jim!" Doctor McCoy said, with urgency. "Jim!"

He administered a hypo to Jim's left arm and motioned to the Cadet.

"Help me get him into a sitting position."

The Cadet, still crouching, lifted the Captain's torso gently and held it up against his own, his arms holding Jim steady. Spock felt an unfamiliar and violent surge of anger as he beheld the Cadet's face, whose expression, whose closeness to the Captain, made his blood boil. Before he even registered what he was doing, he had moved from his seat. As he bent down by the Captain, his brain caught up with his body, and he swiftly turned to the doctor, taking care to rearrange his features into a more appropriate expression.

"Do you require any assistance, Doctor?" he said, his tone calm.

Doctor McCoy turned to him with a disturbingly knowing expression, and smiled slightly.

"It's going to be fine, Spock, don't worry," he said.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I was merely –" he started, but the doctor cut him off.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, his tone laced with something Spock vaguely registered as smugness. "Jim's coming to. It's just a minor head injury. He'll be fine. We've got it covered."

Spock lingered for another moment, then he got up and moved over to Helmsman Sulu.

"My console is completely dead, Sir," Mr. Sulu said, his voice laced with fatigue and exasperation.

Spock moved over to the science station. His scanners were working, but only barely.

"Lieutenant," he said, turning to Uhura, "attempt to contact Starfleet –"

"I already have, Sir," Uhura interrupted him. "The frequency is completely dead."

"Try all the emergency frequencies, and keep trying."

"Yes, Sir."

Spock turned back to the Captain, who had opened his eyes gingerly, and now put a hand carefully to his forehead. He looked at his hand, and the blood coating his fingers, and groaned. He only then seemed to notice that he was being held. Turning his head a little, he discerned the clearly anxious face of Cadet Christopher. The two men looked at each other for a moment that lasted just long enough for Spock to detect a feeling of annoyance, an emotion he was growing tired of being constantly exposed to, before Jim made an attempt at getting up. Doctor McCoy was on top of him instantly.

"Oh, no you don't, Jim," he said, in his usual manner, shoving the Captain back into the Cadet's arms and causing Spock an additional twinge of impatience.

"The ship," Jim said then, and, looking around, his eyes found Spock, who instantly rose and, hands securely behind his back, walked over to him.

"I am afraid our attempt to escape has all but burned out our Dilithium crystals, Captain," he said immediately. "Life support is still functioning, but with power at a critical low, it seems unlikely that we will be able to maintain even this for long. At the moment, we are at a dead stand-still. We have tried, and failed, to contact Starfleet. It would appear we are on our own."

Jim closed his eyes for a moment, as if he wished to ward off this information, or perhaps he was just in pain – in any case, Spock didn't like it. Doctor McCoy, on the other hand, turned to Spock with a frown on his face and sounded decidedly irritated as he said,

"Please, Spock, don't soften the blow. Give the debilitated captain all the bad news at once."

Spock raised an eyebrow. Indeed he had not "softened the blow". He could only assume the doctor was employing his trademark sarcasm. Jim, meanwhile, seemed more troubled by the allusion to his health.

"I have a bump on the head, Bones," he said testily, finally extracting himself from the Cadet's hold and hoisting himself to his feet, "I'm hardly _debilitated_."

Doctor McCoy crossed his arms defiantly. "You're debilitated if I say you're debilitated," he said querulously. Jim looked at Spock and rolled his eyes. Spock raised his eyebrows in his version of a shrug.

Jim made his way gingerly over to the Command chair, where he placed one hand on the armrest and breathed heavily.

"Dizzy, Jim?" Doctor McCoy said, sounding less concerned than amused. Spock glared at him.

"I'm fine, Bones," the Captain insisted. Spock walked over and grabbed hold of his arm.

"Jim," he said quietly. Jim looked at him, his expression filled with exasperation and something Spock could not define. "Let Doctor McCoy take care of your wound."

The Captain continued another moment in his stubbornness, then he sighed. "Very well," he said, defeated. He pulled his arm away from Spock's grasp and turned to McCoy. "But I'm sure there are many others that have better use for your medical attention."

McCoy gave him a sideways grin. "It'll only take a minute, Jim," he said reassuringly. "Then you can go back to playing invincible, if you like."

He held out his arm and gestured towards the turbolift. Jim walked before him, grumbling slightly as he left. Spock shook his head, marveling at the tenacity of this man. He did not know whether he found it exasperating or admirable, though his sentiments probably involved a combination.

Sitting down in the Command Chair, he motioned the young yeoman over. She handed him a PADD, and he promptly logged a report of their situation. Having handed it back to her, he turned with the intention of asking Lieutenant Uhura how she fared in her attempts to make contact with Starfleet, but he was met only by her legs, which were sticking out from under her console. Her entire torso was hidden within, and a faint smell of burnt circuits was emanating from the open hatch.

"Lieutenant Uhura?" Spock said, moving over to where she lay. With some difficulty, she extracted herself from the machine, resurfacing with disheveled hair and a soot-stained face.

"It's no wonder nothing works, Mr. Spock," she said. "Almost all the circuits are burnt out."

Spock nodded. He had already concluded as much. "Is the number of healthy circuits sufficient that you might attempt to rewire them and regain some communicative functions?"

"Uncertain, Sir," the Lieutenant replied. "I will try."

"Let me know if you require any assistance," Spock said, and turned back to his own station as Lieutenant Uhura dove back into the machine.

He examined his instruments a second time, making careful note of all that did and did not function. He deduced that the power surge Mr. Scott had spoken of must have overloaded the finer circuits in the machinery, resulting in their present lack of functions. He was just about to commence his own repairs when the turbolift doors slid open, and a very soot-blackened Mr. Scott stepped onto the Bridge, smelling strongly of burnt Engineering Department and looking dejected and exhausted. His normally slick hair stood on end, and his breathing seemed slightly labored as he approached Spock.

"Mr. Spock," he said, "I have routed and rerouted everything I could think of, and I managed to buy us a couple more hours, but even with that, we don't have long out here without any outside help."

"How long, Mr. Scott?" Spock said, unfazed by the bad news he was already acquainted with.

"I give it about twenty-one hours."

"Try to be more precise, Mr. Scott," Spock admonished.

Mr. Scott shook his head in obvious frustration. "I can't, Mr. Spock! The dilithium crystals are dying, and the more power they lose, the more unpredictable they become. It could be more than twenty-one hours, and it could be less. Personally, I'm hoping for more. Or some kind of miracle."

"I am not normally inclined to believe in miracles," Spock said tonelessly, gazing towards the turbolift doors. He turned his eyes back to Mr. Scott. "You look like you could use some medical attention."

Mr. Scott waved a hand impatiently and shook his head. "I'll be alright," he said. "Just a few small burns and a wee bit o' shock from the sudden surge, but I'll be fine."

Spock restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "I fail to understand the human need to seem indestructible," he said. Mr. Scott looked at him with something that might have been described as a sheepish expression. Spock raised an eyebrow and said, "Mr. Scott, you will report to Sickbay and let Doctor McCoy give you an examination. Then continue your work with all possible speed."

For a moment, Mr. Scott wore a querulous expression. Then he sighed, shrugged, and turned, disappearing behind the turbolift doors as they closed. Spock returned to his station, bending down to open the hatch beneath his console just as Cadet Christopher approached him. Spock turned and raised an eyebrow. In truth, he had not noticed that the Cadet had remained on the Bridge.

"Can I do something?" the Cadet said, with feeling.

Spock looked at him. "You do not have the technical skills necessary to –" Spock started rationally, but was interrupted by the Cadet.

"Please, Mr. Spock," he said passionately. "Let me do _something_. I can't just stand here and watch."

Spock considered for a moment. He looked at his console. Then he looked towards Lieutenant Uhura. "The Lieutenant has trained you in the basics of Communications, has she not?" Spock said. The Cadet hastily nodded. Spock motioned to the Lieutenant. "See if she requires assistance."

Spock watched as Cadet Christopher walked briskly over to the Communications station and bent down next to Lieutenant Uhura. She reemerged from within the machine and swiftly handed him an earpiece. Spock turned back to his own station and opened the hatch beneath the console. He slid easily into the machinery and began rewiring the healthy circuits, prioritizing his scanner and the basic analytical functions.

He had been occupied with this work for about ten minutes when a movement of feet alerted him to the presence of his Captain, who bent down next to him as Spock pulled himself swiftly out of the computer. Spock was pleased to see that Jim looked much better; the color had returned to his face, and his cut was covered by a small, but effective, bandage.

"Any changes?" was the first thing Jim said, the same, worried frown he had been wearing as he left the Bridge still present on his face.

"As to our status, there are none, Sir," Spock said quickly. "We are effecting repairs as best we can. I sent Commander Scott to Sickbay –"

"Yes, I saw him," the Captain said impatiently. "How are the repairs going? Any chance –"

"There is no chance of forward, or backward, or any kind of movement, Captain," Spock interrupted him. "The dilithium crystals are almost completely destroyed. Our best option is to put all remaining power towards life support, which has already been done. Even so, we can only hope to maintain it for approximately twenty-one hours."

It looked as if it took Jim a moment to fully accept this answer. Spock waited. Then Jim sighed. "Damn it," he said quietly. He looked at Spock with tired eyes. "I assume your scanner is down as well?"

Spock nodded. "At the moment, Captain. I'm working on rewiring the circuits. I believe there are enough healthy ones to make the necessary connections."

Jim nodded. "Continue your work then, Mr. Spock," he said, standing up. He moved over to the Communications station, where Cadet Christopher was standing bent over the console, an earpiece in his left ear, one finger pressed to the device as he listened for the appropriate sounds. Lieutenant Uhura was calling out instructions from within the machine as she worked.

"Lieutenant," the Captain said as he approached her. Lieutenant Uhura stopped mid-sentence and pulled herself promptly out of the machine, sitting up and turning her attention to Jim.

"Yes, Sir," she said, sounding slightly worn. Cadet Christopher also turned to face the Captain, and a faint trace of a smile shadowed his lips as he no doubt also noticed Jim's improved appearance.

"Anything?" Jim said by way of a question.

"We're getting static," the Cadet replied, "which is better than nothing."

Jim raised his eyebrows hopefully and looked at Lieutenant Uhura.

"We are working on rewiring the main Communications channel," she said, holding up a few, burnt wires that she then tossed unceremoniously to the floor. "We hope to reach Starfleet on a more low-maintenance frequency. However –"

"– even if we do manage to contact them, there's nothing they can do." Jim finished her sentence, his face falling as the little glint of hope Spock had seen in his eyes died out. "Unless a Starship just happens to be passing." He looked like the idea struck him as something less than likely. Spock privately agreed. "We're too far out – they'll never reach us in time."

Two hours passed. Spock, his rewiring finished, stood bent over his scanner once more, its weakened functions doing little to solve their predicament. Their time was running out much too quickly for comfort, and as Science Officer, it was his duty to come up with _something_ that could get them out of this.

He was not the only one still working. Over at the Communications station, Lieutenant Uhura was still waist-deep in her computer, her uniform stained and burnt, Cadet Christopher by her side, doing anything he could to assist her. Despite his illogical dislike of the Cadet, Spock was pleased to discover he had enough sense left to admire Christopher for his dedication. At the Helm, Lieutenant Sulu was reclining in his chair. He had worked diligently for an entire hour, trying to salvage and repair anything that might have been able to function, but it would appear that the controls had taken the worst hit. It was entirely useless. To repair them would take materials and resources they did not have.

The Captain was in his chair, his stoic gaze fixed outwards, one hand pressed to his forehead, as if he would, by force of sheer willpower, make a solution to their predicament materialize.

Lieutenant Sulu sighed. "It is amazing," he said wearily, "that out of all the starships in the fleet, it somehow always manages to be us that gets all the action."

The Captain snapped out of his reverie and focused on the helmsman. Ensign Checkov turned as well, frowning.

"I have spoken to the helmsmen of at least twenty other ships," Mr. Sulu continued, "and they all speak of relatively quiet flights, you know, a few incidents now and then, but nothing major." He looked around. "I wonder what it is that makes our ship so particularly prone to disaster."

"Animal magnetism?" Checkov said with a slight grin, shrugging.

The Captain smiled and Lieutenant Sulu let out a small laugh just as Spock inwardly started.

"Yes," he said out loud, and all the Bridge crew turned to him, some with frowns of confusion, others with looks of amusement. Jim instantly stood up.

"Yes what, Spock?" he said urgently.

"Magnetism," Spock replied with fervor, his eyes moving to his Captain, his veins throbbing with the knowledge that he had hit on something important. He instantly turned to his scanner, recalibrating it for magnetic energy. Captain Kirk moved up to him with swift steps – Spock heard him come up behind him as he, with another triumphant "Yes" finally found what he was looking for.

"Magnetic residue," he said, turning around. "It is fading, but there."

Jim frowned. "Magnet? We were being pulled by a magnet?"

"In crude terms, yes," Spock replied. "Our own tractor beams transmit the force of gravity through gravitons, as you know. It is my belief that we have been exposed to an entirely different kind of tractor beam."

"But there have been many experiments with magnetic tractor beams," Lieutenant Sulu chimed in. "Magnetic force is notoriously unstable in that kind of function. We have never been successful in finding a good way of using it."

"Which doesn't mean that some other race in the universe might not have been more successful than we were," Jim said, frowning.

Spock nodded. "A magnetic tractor beam would hold far more force than our graviton beams, and would greatly facilitate the towing of a ship, given that its outer hull contain some kind of metal."

"Which explains why we couldn't see the thing that was pulling us," Jim said, his expression revealing that he was catching on to Spock's thought process.

"Indeed, Captain," Spock said. "It was towing us while safely out of sensor range.

Ensign Chekov let out a small "Oh!" of understanding. "This is also why it was so difficult to break free!" he said comprehendingly.

"And the reason for the violent electric surge," Spock added. "Magnetic energy can be very unstable, especially in large quantities. My conjecture is that our captors were not expecting such vehement resistance."

Captain Kirk took a few steps towards Spock, a pensive frown on his face. "Do you think it's possible that the other ship, or whatever it is, was injured by the breakaway as well?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I could not say," he said honestly, "though if they are accustomed to using this type of tractor beam, I would also assume they are prepared for eventualities. Therefore, the likelihood that they should have been incapacitated as we were, is small. However, I think it probable that we will soon find out."

For at that moment a small light started blinking on Spock's console. The Captain instantly joined him at his station, and together they bent over the scanner, which, now calibrated to focus solely on magnetic energy, instantly showed them that their unknown captors were returning.

"Orders, Captain," Lieutenant Sulu said quickly. Jim straightened up slowly and turned to the view screen with a hardened expression.

"I don't think there's anything we _can _do," he said quietly. "The Enterprise will not function without extensive repairs."

Spock felt for Jim. Every eye was on him. As Captain, it was expected of him to solve every problem, get them out of every situation with their lives intact. And here they were, stranded, unable to perform even the smallest task. Jim was right. There was nothing they could do, except wait for what would come.

"Jim," Spock said. "We have done everything we can. As have you."

The Captain looked at him with an expression that seemed torn between gratitude and frustration.

"You are right, Mr. Spock," he said, and, turning, he sat down in his chair, moving his eyes to fix unblinkingly on the view screen, his back straight, his expression determined. "There is nothing we can do now but wait. Gentlemen, prepare yourselves for … _something_. Whatever it is, we will meet it head-on."

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><p><strong>AN:** Reviews are still funky. Next chapter will be up in a week.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So, third chapter. I'm being very diligent with my updating - yay me!

As always, I give a great big hug of thanks to my wonderful and unparalleled beta Judin.

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><p><em>Captain's log, Stardate 3126.4. We are being pulled by an unknown force, towards and unknown destination. Hit by an electric surge, the Enterprise was deprived of almost all its main functions. Life support is operational, but failing fast. Chief Engineer Scott now estimates we have less than twelve hours left. We are at a loss to understand what our captors want with us, and whether their mission is peaceful, or violent. We have now been in their tow for a little over eight hours. Our hope is that we are being taken to a place with the possibility for repairs, and explanations.<em>

Kirk finished his log, and let out a weary sigh. He had now been awake for more than forty-eight hours. The previous night he had been unable to sleep, and the one prior to that he had been engaged in helping Cadet Christopher learn the routines of the night watch. Trying not to think of his bed, he placed two fingers to either temple and massaged them gently. He heard rather than saw his First Officer rise from his seat and walk over to him, pausing with a hand on his armrest.

"Captain," Spock's voice said gently.

"Yes, what is it, Mr. Spock?" Kirk said without looking up.

"You are tired."

At this Kirk did look up. "Thank you, Spock, I am aware of that," he said, his tone somewhat more unsympathetic than he had intended. Spock raised an eyebrow, looking supremely unfazed.

"Then might I suggest you rest yourself, Jim?" he said evenly.

Kirk waved a dismissive hand. "Not now, Spock. I can't rest now."

"I beg to differ," Spock contradicted calmly. Kirk sent him a sharp glance, but Spock would apparently not be deterred. "You have been injured, Jim, and judging by the dark coloring around your eyes, you have not slept in quite some time. I think you will find that it is generally preferable for the Captain of a starship to be in a state of consciousness when he is on duty. To achieve this goal –"

"Spock," Kirk interrupted him, annoyance and amusement fighting for preference in his already cluttered head. Only Spock could possibly state the obvious and make it sound so infallibly logical. "I get your point."

He hesitated another moment. He was the Captain. They were in the middle of a crisis, though nothing was happening at the moment. There was, in fact, nothing he could do. And it would, after all, be very easy to contact him if anything were to change. It would also be foolish to meet these strangers, whoever they were, with weakened responses. He looked at Spock once more. The Vulcan was regarding him with an expression that told Kirk quite plainly that he already knew he had won. Kirk sighed. Then he got up.

"Very well, Mr. Spock," he said, resigned. "You have the Conn. Your orders are to contact me the moment something, _anything_ happens, do you hear?"

Spock inclined his head. "Of course, Captain."

The Vulcan sat down in the chair as Kirk moved towards the turbolift. Kirk felt so tired that, as the turbolift doors closed behind him, he was frankly surprised that he had not passed out hours ago. He was barely able to keep his eyes open as the lift moved rapidly to its destination. As it slid to a halt and the doors opened, Kirk moved out slowly, and made his way, thankfully undisturbed, to his quarters. Once inside, he did little other than remove his shoes and shirt before slumping down on the bed. Part of him was sure he'd never get to sleep. There was too much going on. He could not rest properly while they were in the clutches of some alien race.

As it turned out, Captain James T. Kirk was perfectly capable of falling asleep in the middle of a crisis, despite any alien race that might be trying to end them. He reluctantly admitted to himself, just before he lost consciousness, that Spock was right. He had been overexerting himself. But what other choice did he have? Christopher … he had to make this right by him. He had to …

His next thoughts were swept up in the gentle current of sleep, his mind drifting off to a place he hadn't visited for many, many years.

"_James Tiberius Kirk!"_

_It was never a good sign when his mother used his full name. It was a hot summer's day, and eight year-old Jim Kirk, bored with the humid monotony, had been attempting to amuse himself by examining the insect life on their little farm. His mission: to discover a new species. So far he wasn't having much luck. Flies seemed to be Iowa's bug of choice, and they buzzed tirelessly around his head, making it extremely difficult for him to concentrate on anything other than a mounting sense of frustration, which was causing a kind of dull pain behind his right eye._

_As his mother's voice carried across the farm to where he sat, crouched on the ground in one of the fields, Kirk sat up and frowned. Immediately racking his brains to find out what it was he might have done and coming up unusually blank, he hurried over to her where she stood by the door, hands on her hips, an unmistakably unhappy expression on her face._

"_What is this supposed to mean?" she said, and she held up what might once have been a computer console, and which now more accurately resembled something that had been run over by a train._

Oh. Right. That.

_It seemed necessary to provide some sort of explanation for this, and yet the truth ("I wanted to see how it worked, and then I wanted to see how I could make it _not_ work") was not a great option. Instead, he opted for the vague and, he knew, entirely unsatisfactory, "Um."_

_Predictably, this did not make Winona Kirk very happy._

"_You come in here this instant," she said, her mouth a very thin line as she spoke through gritted teeth._

Uh-oh.

_It was never a good sign when his mother used his full name. It was usually a much worse sign when she didn't open her mouth properly when she spoke. Kirk often wondered about this phenomenon. Maybe it was that she was so angry she would not be able to stop herself from shrieking if she gave herself the opportunity._

_Jim decided to leave this train of thought, because it was making him distinctly nervous. After the countless situations he had gotten himself into over the years, it seemed silly that he should still be afraid of his mother's reprimands, but it was apparently a built-in reflex. After all, he didn't mean to make her angry. He was just extremely good at it. And, after having learned about genes and hereditary traits in his human biology class at school, he had come to the, in his opinion, entirely logical conclusion that this affinity for making trouble quite simply wasn't his fault. He couldn't help it. It was like trying to talk to a brick wall. According to his father, this was very difficult._

_Now, as he followed his mother into the house, Kirk tried very hard not to hang his head. One might, at this point, put forward the question of why he destroyed the computer console in the first place. Kirk was not destructive by nature, and he was a far stretch from unintelligent. To boil a complicated concept down to its simplest form, James T. Kirk's main problem was curiosity._

_He had always had an urge to know things, and he had always liked being in control of his surroundings. If he didn't know how the computer console functioned, he would be very sorry the day it decided to take on a life of its own and take over the entire house. (According to his English teacher, computers were evil. Kirk figured she must be right, because she was very smart. She was also very pretty, but that was beside the point.)_

_Kirk's thoughts drifted and he walked straight into his mother, who, apparently unable to contain her anger long enough to make it to the living room, had stopped in the hall. Kirk regained his composure as quickly as he could and, turning around for a brief moment, closed the door (he took very great care not to slam it). As he turned back to face his mother, he was met with a glare that made the hot, Iowa sun seem like a dull ice cube in comparison._

_He resisted the urge to run._

"_Explain," was the one, unembellished word she put forth. There was no need for any further enticement. Kirk, stumbling over his own words as he hastened to provide some rationalization for his scattered thoughts and resulting actions, blurted out a series of lousy excuses, causing his mother's frown to deepen materially._

_As he babbled himself into inevitable silence, his mother reached out and grabbed his wrist, holding it in a vice-like grip as she turned and pulled him after her. Kirk stumbled slightly, his feet taken by surprise at the suddenness of the movement, but he quickly caught himself and was promptly marched into his bedroom._

_Once inside, his mother let go of his arm and once more placed her hands on her hips in that businesslike fashion that had taught Kirk to expect consequences with a capital "c"._

"_You will stay in your room," his mother said, her voice low and foreboding, "for the rest of the day." Kirk groaned, but his mother was very far from finished. "I am sick and tired of this, Jim. I told you last time that the next time you ruined something, you would have to replace it. So –" Kirk sat down on the bed, his eyes wide and intense as he regarded his mother; he was trying very hard not to blink too much, in case it should annoy her "– you will spend your summer vacation cleaning the house, you will do anything and everything I tell you to, and when your father comes home, we are going to agree on a fitting project for you. There is plenty to do around here."_

_She took a moment to regard her son, whose face had twisted in consternation at all the things he would be required to do. His mother's voice softened as she bent down next to him and placed a gentle hand on his knee, saying,_

"_You have to learn, Jim. I understand that you want to know everything, and that you're probably too bright for your own good –" her eyes twinkled, just a little, as she said this, and she gave him the faintest of smiles "– but you have to learn some responsibility. You'll never get anywhere in life without it. Do you understand?"_

_Kirk held her gaze steadily for several, long moments. Then he nodded. He didn't know, then, that in four months from now his mother would be gone forever. He didn't know that this conversation, ingrained in his subconscious, was to shape the man he would become. He had no idea of the future that lay in store for him. But he nodded. Because, however little James T. Kirk might have known about his future at that point, his mother's words had made sense to him. And though this incident was very far from the last one of its kind Kirk's parents, and guardians, would witness over the years, Kirk's endeavors and experiments were from that day forth executed with a larger sense of purpose, and a substantially larger amount of care._

Kirk woke up as abruptly as if someone had slapped him across the face, and his disorientation upon waking was such that it took him a full minute to remember where he was. As the familiarity of his quarters – his Starfleet issue bed, the lamp that stood on his slightly crooked bedside table, the intercom on the wall, dented from where he had once smashed his fist into it – once more became clear to him, he raised himself to a sitting position and placed his head in his hands.

It was throbbing. Bones would tell him that this was to be expected, given its untimely collision with a hard banister. Kirk tried to put the pain from his mind as he contemplated his dream.

It had been very vivid. Unusually so, in fact. Kirk decided to blame this on the injury as well. Not that he never dreamed, but his dreams were usually a great deal more relaxing, not to mention more pleasurable than repressed memories of his dead mother's past reprimands.

The truth was he had completely forgotten that day, but now recollection came rushing back to him, images he didn't know what to do with bombarding his brain. His mother had died suddenly and unexpectedly. She served as a Starfleet Officer aboard the USS Kelvin, but she had worked but infrequently since the birth of her youngest son. However, in the winter of 2241 she had taken up her old post as Communications Officer. The ship had not been long underway when a message came through to Starfleet Headquarters that it had been destroyed, along with its entire crew. A passing starship had identified part of its outer hull, though it could not determine what had been the cause of its devastation.

Kirk's remembrance of his mother had faded all too quickly, and, as a child, he soon came to miss the idea of her more than the actual person. His lack of memory had often pained him. But it had also helped him focus. Now, after the dream, the image of her was so clear in his mind that it was like looking at a holographic projection.

With vague interest, he noted a spot of moisture on his cheek, and realized, with no small surprise, that he was crying. As if this discovery opened some hidden vault, several, heavy tears followed the first, and they cascaded silently down his face. Kirk gently wiped them away, feeling a little odd. He was emotional by nature, he always had been, but he could not remember the last time he had cried.

As he lifted his head to the very unremarkable ceiling of his quarters, he suddenly let out a sharp laugh, the sound of it echoing strangely in his loneliness. Here he was, Captain of a Starship, in the middle of a crisis, sitting in his bed and crying over his dead mother. The absurdity of this realization only provoked further amusement, and Kirk indulged himself for a moment, laughing at nothing and everything. He finally stood up, and, stretching in an attempt to rid his body of its last vestiges of sleep, he moved over to his desk. Pressing the computer console, he called up Spock, whose face immediately filled the little view screen connected to it. The Vulcan contracted his brows minutely as he regarded Kirk, but then his face straightened perfectly. Kirk decided not to ponder the meaning of that minor expressional change just now, as there were more important things to do. He quickly checked the time.

He had been asleep for approximately five hours. Right. Five hours was good.

"Mr. Spock," he said, keeping his tone businesslike. "How is the situation on the Bridge?"

Again, and for just the tiniest second, Spock looked … if Kirk didn't know better, he'd say the Vulcan was distracted, but once more, Spock recovered himself quickly.

"There has been no significant change, Captain," he said curtly. "Our life support systems continue to deteriorate. I have ordered a lock-down of the areas of the ship which, considering our situation, can be deemed unnecessary, and switched off life support in these areas. We have gained some hours by this, but the surplus does not amount to much, and will not greatly extend our currently expected life-span."

Kirk nodded. Locking down parts of the ship had been a good idea. He told Spock as much, and the Vulcan nodded in acknowledgement, the barest trace of a smile shadowing his lips, as if he took pleasure in the compliment. Kirk smiled back in earnest.

"I assume you will be rejoining us on the Bridge shortly?" Spock said, his tone unusually warm and friendly.

"Yes, I'll be there soon," Kirk replied.

"And you have rested yourself?" Spock said, frowning slightly.

Kirk took the expression to mean that his First Officer wanted to make sure he would not return to the Bridge in the same state that he had left it. Kirk sent Spock a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, Spock, I slept."

"Then I will see you on the Bridge shortly, Captain," was Spock's reply. Kirk resisted the urge to draw out the transmission a little further, and instead decided on the more Captain-ly option of being time-efficient.

He rose from his desk, and only then noticed that he was, once more, shirtless. He stared down at himself for a good, long moment as the embarrassment gradually sank in. If he were one for blushing, he was sure his torso would have been deep red.

So that was why Spock had seemed uncomfortable. It was not habitual, after all, for a Starship captain to make transmissions without his clothes on. And, naturally, he had to address his transmission to Spock, the one Starfleet officer whose dress was always entirely immaculate, and who also happened to be the object of his –

"Jim?"

Kirk whipped around, and was met with a pair of eyebrows which, though not Vulcan, were nonetheless raised. Cadet Christopher hastily made an apology.

"I'm sorry – your door was unlocked, and I thought …"

He trailed off and Kirk waved a dismissive hand in his direction. He distinctly noticed Christopher's eyes travel the length of his torso before he apparently caught himself and snapped his eyes back to Kirk's face. Now it was Kirk's turn to raise his eyebrows. He had been about to fetch his shirt, but paused mid-movement, deciding that remaining shirtless for another minute might be a good idea.

As it turned out, it was a very good idea.

"I, um …" Christopher started, clearly distracted.

Kirk gave him a dazzling smile. "Was there something you wanted?" he said softly, pointedly crossing his arms over his chest.

The cadet let the door slide shut behind him and took a few, slow steps towards Kirk. "I just … thought I'd come by," he said noncommittally.

Kirk let his hands drop to his sides as Christopher regarded him quietly. There was something so … _interesting_ about him, something Kirk couldn't quite put his finger on. He had the urge to touch him, and mentally shook himself. Even if the timing and place hadn't been entirely inappropriate, the man had had a wife, and children, and was, despite his apparent appreciation for the male form, less than likely to fall for Kirk's particular brand of charm. Or … was he?

"You look at me like you're trying to read my mind," Christopher said unexpectedly. Kirk almost started at the directness of the statement. He was so used to Spock, so used to his own feelings' being a mystery to his First Officer, that he had not considered the fact that his face, when seen by someone of his own kind, might be quite readable. He quickly flashed Christopher another smile, trying to keep the inevitable flirtation in his gaze to a minimum.

"Forgive me," he said lightly. "I guess I'm trying to determine your character."

Christopher raised his eyebrows again. "Really?" he said, his tone oddly ambiguous. "How's that going?"

"It's difficult," Kirk admitted. "I've known you for some weeks now, and in some ways, you remind me of myself, but I'm also convinced we're very different."

Christopher, his face loosening up, shook his head slightly. "I think we have a thing or two in common," he said.

He smiled, and Kirk suddenly felt very hot around the collar he wasn't wearing. There had been a kind of tension, wholly unrelated to antagonism, between them from the beginning, and though Kirk was never loathe to jump to sexual conclusions, he figured he might be hoping for a lot if he expected the man he had abducted from the past to want to start something with him. He gave Christopher another smile.

"Maybe we do," he said.

The time for dragging out getting dressed having elapsed quite some time ago, Kirk reluctantly turned away and moved over to his dresser, where his uniform shirt lay in a slightly less than orderly heap. He picked it up just as he heard a set of urgent footsteps behind him.

He turned, shirt in hand. Christopher had stopped just a few paces from him, and was wearing an expression that Kirk had seen way too many times to mistake it. Forgetting any hesitation he might have harbored a moment ago, he let his uniform fall to the ground.

He moved forward. So did Christopher. Their mouths met in a fury of passion, hands gripping arms with alarming force. Christopher breathed heavily as he pushed his tongue into Kirk's mouth with fervor, Kirk returning the gesture urgently, rivulets of pleasure running up and down his spine.

It lasted a full, glorious minute, before Kirk remembered that he was expected on the Bridge. What's more, they were in the middle of a very serious situation, which hardly gave its Captain leave to indulge in sexual pleasures.

With a groan of dissatisfaction, and not without some difficulty, he pulled back. Both men took a moment to attempt to calm down. Christopher regarded him with smoldering eyes, making it all the more challenging for Kirk to maintain anything resembling focus.

"I'm –"

"– needed on the Bridge," Christopher interrupted him, and he took a measured step backwards, putting some distance between them. This actually served to settle Kirk's spinning head quite a bit, and he decided to help the process by finally putting on his shirt. Christopher looked like this development was a far stretch from what he had hoped for.

"I'm sorry," Kirk said, a little awkwardly. Christopher shook his head and turned his eyes down, straightening his own, plain black shirt, as if to give his hands something to do. Kirk moved over to him and placed a hand on his arm. The Cadet looked up, his expression betraying a mixture of desire and uncertainty.

Kirk knew it would probably be in both of their best interests if he just gave him a reassuring smile and left. But in situations like these, Kirk was never one to choose the most logical option. So he leaned forward and gently placed a kiss on Christopher's lips, which instantly moved against his, though with less intensity this time.

Christopher wrapped his arms around him, clutching his back. Kirk knew the time to pull away was now, if he was to manage it at all. Then again, this might be the last opportunity he would have to …

_Oh, fuck it._

He grasped Christopher's head in his hands, moving closer, his body pressed against the Cadet's. The kiss intensified, Kirk moving his hands down Christopher's body, his fingers finding the lining of the Cadet's pants. Christopher let out a soft moan as Kirk slid one hand underneath, his hand finding its desired target and beginning to move against it. Christopher seized the back of Kirk's neck in a tight grip, placing wet kisses along his jaw bone and then meeting his mouth once more.

They shifted, Christopher's back hitting the wall opposite, his head turning up in pleasure as Kirk pressed up against him, his hand moving more vigorously now beneath the Cadet's standard issue black pants, which had fallen unceremoniously down his hips. Christopher responded eagerly to Kirk's touch, his own hands running down the length of Kirk's uniform and sneaking up underneath the shirt Kirk had so foolishly put on.

He did not know precisely how long they kept it up, all he knew was a grueling disappointment when, just as the climax seemed so tauntingly within reach, the comm. unit on his wall rang out, and a familiar voice said,

"Bridge to Captain Kirk."

Kirk let out a dissatisfied groan as Christopher's lips continued to move tantalizingly against his. He held on for another moment, grasping the Cadet's shoulders with stubborn force.

"Bridge to Captain Kirk. This is Spock, please acknowledge."

He broke away and took several deep breaths.

"Don't …" Christopher said, his hands firm on Kirk's waist.

Kirk closed his eyes briefly, wishing the timing had been better. "I'm sorry," he said, again, and, carefully, extracted himself from Christopher's hold. He moved swiftly over to the comm. and said,

"Kirk here."

"Captain, is everything alright?" There was a touch of concern to the Vulcan's voice, which, had the situation been different, might have made Kirk's heart throb. As it were, his heart was already quite excited enough to be getting on with.

"Everything's fine, Spock," he said, trying not to sound too out-of-breath. "I was … delayed. I'll be right there. Kirk out."

He switched off the unit and turned back to Christopher, who gave him a small, exasperated smile.

"Go figure we're interrupted by the emotional detachment squad," he said, rolling his eyes.

Kirk arched an eyebrow. "You're beginning to sound like Doctor McCoy," he said. "Be careful. Now, we really need to go."

"He's your friend," Christopher said, taking Kirk by surprise. "The Vulcan," he added, by way of clarification.

"Yes," Kirk answered, when he got over his initial confusion. "He is."

"I don't mean to insult him," Christopher said quietly. "I just don't understand him."

Kirk let out a small laugh. "You and the rest of the crew," he said. "Though I think Spock would be very satisfied at being termed a – what was it? – _emotional detachment squad_."

"Why does he take pride in having no emotions?" Christopher asked, as they finally moved towards the door, their shirts straightened and their pants zipped.

"He doesn't lack emotions," Kirk said softly. "He just doesn't show them. It's the Vulcan way."

"Strange way," Christopher muttered.

"Just because it's different, doesn't make it bad," Kirk said as the door closed behind them, his eyes on Christopher. Christopher gave him a crooked smile.

"I guess not."

They arrived on the Bridge a few minutes later, Kirk feeling unreasonably elated, given their precarious situation. As he approached the Command Chair, Spock got up and moved to the side, giving Kirk a small nod. Kirk gave him his customary smile, but felt strange, somehow, almost nervous. His smile faded as Spock raised an eyebrow in something akin to a questioning expression.

"Jim," he said calmly. Somehow this use of his first name struck Kirk more powerfully than usual.

"Spock," he replied, sitting down in his chair in an attempt at glazing over his own unexplainable and sudden awkwardness. Cadet Christopher took a stand by his other side. This did not help. Spock gave the Cadet an assessing glance.

"I need to have a word with the Captain," he said, quietly.

Christopher started slightly, as if surprised by the address, then he moved over to the Communications Station, which seemed to have become his favorite haunt. Kirk wondered if it had anything to do with a certain, rather attractive Communications Officer. He put that thought out of his mind and turned his eyes on Spock. The Vulcan leaned in, and when he spoke, it was in very low tones, so that their conversation was kept private.

"You were expected on the Bridge fifteen minutes ago," he said, his tone laced with something very much like disapproval.

Kirk frowned. It took him a moment to realize that he had just been rebuked for being late. By Spock. It made him feel vaguely like he was back at the Academy. He blinked, once, then he collected himself and crossed his arms, feeling a little annoyed.

"I was held up," he supplied, reluctant to offer any further excuses.

One eyebrow went up. "Might I enquire –"

"– It is none of your business, Mr. Spock," Kirk snapped. What brought on this sudden bout of obstinacy he was not certain, but he felt it might have something to do with having been spoken to as if he were a disobedient teenager. It might also have something to do with not wanting Spock to know the reason for his delay. Though why this should make him irritated, he did not know.

Spock immediately straightened up, placing his hands in their customary position behind his back. For some reason, his eyes traveled to Christopher, lingering on him for the tiniest moment before they met Kirk's, their expression utterly unreadable.

"It was not my intention to pry into your personal matters, Captain," Spock said, formal once more, though his tone had an edge to it that made Kirk feel very cold. "I only wished to ascertain whether there was something that required attention."

"Well, Commander," Kirk answered, his tone mimicking Spock's, "aside from the fact that we're drifting through the universe, at the mercy of some alien race, with a dwindling oxygen supply and absolutely no power to help ourselves, I'd say everything is going pretty smoothly."

Spock regarded him for a moment that seemed ridiculously drawn-out, though Kirk knew it lasted only a matter of seconds. "You are angry," the Vulcan stated.

"Yes, Spock, I'm angry," Kirk replied sharply, but as he looked at Spock once more, and as his brain caught up with his temper, his anger deflated like a punctured balloon. He sighed. "I'm angry at the situation, Spock, not at you."

"Then, Captain, might I respectfully suggest that your refrain from directing your frustration at me," Spock said, his words still distinctly colder than usual. "It is illogical, and most unhelpful."

Kirk was momentarily rendered speechless. He was used to being corrected by Spock on official matters. Spock was his First Officer; it was his duty to be an extra pair of eyes and ears, to help the Captain with his command, and to let him know if and when he wasn't doing his job properly. Kirk had never begrudged Spock this role, quite the contrary; he welcomed it. Spock was his friend, and a more than capable officer. Kirk could only benefit from his advice. But it was not often that Spock's admonitions crossed that sometimes very thin line into the arena of the personal, and Kirk had never known him to berate him for his manner of speech before, however much it might be deserved.

This rare instance left Kirk feeling slightly disoriented, as if he had just been punched in the face. He immediately felt very ashamed of himself.

"You're right," he said quietly, trying to convey sincerity through a steady, sober gaze. "Forgive me, Spock."

Spock regarded him impassively for a very short moment. Then he inclined his head.

"Of course, Jim," he said, and it was as if something warm flooded Kirk's stomach at the renewed use of his first name. He ventured a small smile which is First Officer did not return. However, Kirk convinced himself that Spock's eyes took a turn for the friendlier.

"I understand that you are stressed and fatigued," the Vulcan said, softly now. Kirk shook his head.

"Stressed, yes," he said. Spock put a hand on Kirk's shoulder, a simple gesture of reassurance which Kirk's heart apparently found exciting enough to skip a couple of beats. The hand was removed all too quickly.

Kirk watched the hand as Spock withdrew it, and was for some reason very happy when the hand remained at Spock's side, instead of migrating to its usual place behind the Vulcan's back, where Kirk would not have been able to see it. It was strange that he should be so fascinated by Spock's hands. They were nice hands, to be sure – strong, powerful, with long, lean fingers – but Kirk usually took more pleasure in other parts of the body. Maybe it had to do with his knowledge of Vulcan culture, and of what hands meant to them. Maybe he was just curious to understand how that worked. The urge to run his fingers over Spock's was sometimes so irresistible that it was all he could do to keep his hands to himself.

As nothing of interest happened for the next couple of hours, Kirk was left to ponder this urge in relative peace and quiet. That is, he would have been had not his duties as Captain forced the subject from his mind and substituted it with one plan after the other to free the Enterprise and bring it, and its crew, to safety. The ideas grew wilder and wilder as the ship continued to be dragged along, and at the end of two hours, Kirk had long been battling the urge to throw himself into the banister again and knock himself out.

Despite his disappointment in his own performance, Kirk was intensely proud of how well his crew were handling the situation. Some, as the hours dwindled by, showed faint signs of dejection, but this did not affect their professionalism, which was kept with unfailing morale. Lieutenant Uhura, whose expertise had enabled her to make the necessary repairs to the Communications Station, kept in touch with Starfleet, giving regular reports on their status. As they had predicted, however, there was no other Starship close enough to be capable of getting to the Enterprise in time.

At the end of three hours, a tiny speck of something became apparent on the main view screen. Kirk, who had been privately desperate for something to happen, straightened abruptly in his chair and turned to Spock. The Vulcan, a pensive expression on his face, had clearly noticed as well. He turned to Kirk when he noticed the Captain was looking at him.

"Do we have the power to enlarge the image?" Kirk said, and some of the crewmembers turned to him with curious expressions, then their own eyes found the view screen, and the little spot in the middle that might be a ship, or a planet, or something else entirely.

"We do not," came Spock's reply. His own eyes had turned back to the unidentified object, and he was staring at it intently. Kirk had the sudden and ridiculous idea that Vulcans could enlarge images using just their minds. Then again, Spock might be naturally able to see better than humans. After all, he could hear better, heal better, and was a great deal stronger, something Kirk had experienced more than once.

"We'll simply have to wait, then," he said, and he felt excited, despite everything. Because the thing, whatever it was, was definitely growing larger, albeit at a slow pace. It did not look like the Enterprise would run out of oxygen before they were met with whatever or whomever could give them some answers. And Kirk would rather die battling enemies than suffocate to death any day.

He rose from his chair and moved to stand behind the helm.

"What do you make of it, Sulu?" he said, and the Lieutenant turned slightly.

"It doesn't seem round enough to be a planet," he said musingly. "My guess is that's the ship that's pulling us."

"A likely conjecture," Spock agreed, who had moved to Kirk's side.

"Maybe they are pulling us closer," said Chekov, "because we are approaching their planet?"

"Or maybe they're turning to fight," Sulu suggested.

"That is highly unlikely," Spock replied. "Given their mastery of such a sophisticated tractor beam, we must assume these strangers are intelligent, and technologically advanced. It would be illogical for them to fight an adversary who has already been rendered defenseless."

"Maybe they're just going to destroy us," said Cadet Christopher, who had moved to Kirk's other side. Kirk felt a definite sense of discomfort, standing there between him and Spock.

Spock raised an eyebrow at Christopher's remark. "If they meant to destroy us, it is logical to assume they would simply have done so originally, as opposed to –"

"Maybe they just towed us because they thought we might be useful, and now they've figured out we're not, and –"

"It is improbable that it would have taken them such an extensive amount of time to perform a simple set of scans," Spock cut him off, with a touch of asperity. Kirk imagined he had not appreciated the Cadet's interruption.

He looked from Spock to Christopher, and back to Spock again, and felt a vague sense of panic, like a dull humming in his chest. He ignored it and focused his attention instead on the growing shape on the view screen, which, confirming Sulu's theory, resembled a ship more and more as it came closer.

"It is curious that they have not attempted to contact us," Spock said, after a small stretch of silence. Kirk, looking at the growing figure, nodded.

"It's unsettling," he said.

It took just south of ten minutes before the Enterprise came to a halt in front of the alien vessel. The Bridge crew were all astonished to see a ship only about a third the size of their own, with no visible weapons, and an outer hull that looked as if it were made of pure silver. It had an elliptical shape, with a sharp point at one end, which appeared to be the front. There were no discernible windows, but there were two, jutting protrusions at the back, which Kirk decided must be the engines, or whatever else that might be powering the ship's forward movement.

He looked at Spock, who obliged his expectations by raising both eyebrows and saying, "Fascinating."

Kirk, turning his eyes back to the foreign vessel, was caught between his curiosity and a sneaking sense of shame. He knew by now that he should never judge an enemy ship by its shape, build, or size, but he couldn't help feeling that, in order to placate his ego somewhat, he would have liked the vessel that had taken over control of _his_ Enterprise to have been just a little bit bigger.

Turning his back momentarily on the view screen, he moved to his chair and sat down, before turning to his Communications Officer.

"Can we contact them, Lieutenant?" he asked, but Uhura already had a finger pressed to her earpiece and a concentrated frown on her face.

"I'm getting something, Captain," she said as her fingers ran across her console, "but I can't make it out – I'm trying to get a clearer signal." She worked furiously for a few moments, but grew steadily more frustrated. "I – can't –" she said through gritted teeth. "I think the basic functions are still too damaged. I can't get a fix on the signal, it's –"

But at this, Uhura abruptly stopped, going perfectly still. Kirk, sensing trouble, started to move from his seat, but Christopher was already at her side as she let out a small "Oh!" as if of surprise, and promptly slid sideways out of her seat and into the Cadet's arms.

Kirk sprang up. "Uhura!" he said as he hurried over. Christopher, crouching so that he was level with Uhura's chair, was holding her, her head balanced against his shoulder. She was unconscious. The Cadet gently shook her in an attempt to wake her up, and Kirk placed a hand on her arm, squeezing it lightly. She was completely unresponsive.

"Signal Dr. McCoy," Kirk said to no one in particular, his attention on his lifeless Lieutenant. He heard Spock's voice, a moment later, complying with his request.

There was a strange noise just then, a kind of hum, like the sound of a tuning fork amplified tenfold.

"Captain," the voice of his helmsman said abruptly.

He turned. The view screen was filled with a kind of dancing, blue light. He cast a glance at Uhura and then moved quickly over to the helm.

"Spock, readings," he said.

The Vulcan, already bent over his scanner, replied immediately. "Strong readings of magnetic energy. The ship seems to be constructed chiefly of a metal alloy unfamiliar to our sensors, although the outer hull appears to be crafted from pure silver."

Spock looked up, a frown on his face. Kirk, well-versed in the normal build-up of space ships, as well as the inherent qualities of pure silver, understood his hesitation.

"That's impossible," he said, before Spock could express his own disbelief.

"I would say the same thing," his First Officer concurred. "Silver is a very soft metallic chemical element with a melting point far below the temperatures achieved during atmospheric reentry. Yet, unless my scanner is malfunctioning –"

"– I suppose it could be, after the hit it took," Kirk interrupted him. "Still, isn't it more likely, given the damage, that the scanner would simply be unable to process information, rather than giving you details that are just wrong?"

"Those were my thoughts as well," Spock replied.

"If their outer hull is made of silver, they have to have something to protect it, to prevent it from melting," Lieutenant Sulu chimed in, his eyes on the luminous display on the view screen.

"My readings show no indication of any force field, or substance, surrounding the vessel," Spock said.

"Which doesn't mean it isn't there," Kirk said, looking at his First Officer. "Your scanner is not exactly at its best right now. Not to make any slight on your formidable abilities, Mr. Spock."

Spock raised one eyebrow haughtily, though Kirk was sure he saw a twinkle of poorly concealed amusement in his eye. He opened his mouth to say something, but Cadet Christopher, still holding Lieutenant Uhura, beat him to it.

"Silver has the highest electrical conductivity of any element. If their outer hull is covered in it, it must save them a lot of energy."

Kirk turned to him with raised eyebrows, unable to hide his surprise at this unexpected bout of knowledge. He couldn't help but be impressed. Christopher clearly noticed his amazement, and frowned.

"What?" he said, a slight edge to his voice, though it seemed a little put-on. "I know stuff. We hadn't worked out how to use silver properly for electrical purposes in my time, you know, because it tarnishes so easily. I figured you guys would have solved that by now." He shrugged. "I guess you're not as intelligent as I thought."

A sarcastic smile was flashed his way, and Kirk shook his head, amused in spite of himself. Just then, the turbolift doors flew open, and Doctor McCoy came tumbling out of it, looking harassed, as usual.

"Bones," Kirk said immediately, approaching him. "What took you so long?"

McCoy scowled. "Well, since pointy-ears over there decided to turn off all _unnecessary_" – he stressed the word with a slight grimace – "equipment, I've been running around like a crazy person, trying to keep everyone alive down there. There were some pretty bad burns, you know."

"I know, Bones, I know," Kirk said peaceably. "Just see to her, ok?"

He motioned to Lieutenant Uhura, and McCoy hurried over, kneeling down next to her.

"What in God's name happened, Jim?"

Kirk shook his head. "We don't know. Is she going to be alright?"

McCoy shot him an exasperated expression. "I'm a doctor, Jim, not a fortune teller. Give me a moment to take her vitals."

He took out his medical tricorder and passed it slowly over Uhura's still form. After a moment, he looked at Jim with the expression he wore whenever something was particularly medically mysterious.

"As far as I can tell, she's fine, Jim," he said, shaking his head. "But for some reason, she's in a coma."

"A coma?" Jim repeated, nonplussed. "Are you sure?"

Doctor McCoy shrugged. "According to my tricorder, yes."

"Could it be malfunctioning?" Cadet Christopher asked, his eyes on Uhura.

McCoy raised an eyebrow in an impatient expression. "You mean like practically everything else on this ship?" he said cynically. "I suppose it could be."

For some reason, Kirk had the impression that McCoy didn't really like Christopher, though why, he couldn't imagine. Maybe he still disapproved of the entire situation. Well, it made little difference now.

"What can you do for her?" he said quietly, and McCoy took a quick look at Lieutenant Uhura before replying.

"Without the proper equipment, not much, Jim," he said. "But, seeing as she doesn't seem to be in any immediate danger, I think it should be sufficient to bring her down to Sickbay and put her in one of the beds, keep an eye on her."

"Right," Kirk said, nodding.

He gestured to the turbolift and turned around. He was not happy about this, not happy at all. He did not like to see his crew hurt, and Uhura was always such a reliable presence. It unnerved him, hurt him, to see her seat vacant. So he took a moment, gathered himself, and then turned back around to find Christopher, standing, Uhura safely in his arms, one hand tucked under her knees and the other wrapped around her shoulders. Her head was reclining on his chest. He met the Cadet's eyes with hesitation.

"I'll carry her down," Christopher said calmly.

Kirk felt a surge of affection for him. "Yes," he said, quietly. "Help McCoy see to her."

They entered the turbolift, and were gone. Kirk walked back to his chair, and, feeling utterly furious, sat down. Spock moved over to him and, once more, placed a hand on his arm. Kirk cast him a brief glance, but, for once, he did not have the capacity to indulge, or even acknowledge, the tingling sensation the Vulcan's touch provided. He fixed his eyes on the view screen, where that strange, blue light persisted in dancing around, as if they were all spectators to a psychedelic lightshow. He slammed his hand down, hard, onto his arm rest, then put the same hand to his forehead.

"Jim," Spock said quietly.

"What are they doing, Spock?" Kirk said, an edge of desperation to his voice. "Why aren't they contacting us, or attacking us, or _doing something_?" He let out a sigh and removed his hand from his face.

"I do not know, Jim," Spock replied, his tone, as always, sturdy and composed.

Kirk, unthinkingly, placed his hand gently on Spock's. In the moment it took him to realize what he had done, he felt inexplicably warm, then Spock's fingers stiffened under his, and the hand was swiftly removed. Kirk snapped his eyes up to meet Spock's, but the Vulcan wasn't looking at him. Spock took a few, deep breaths, and then moved away.

Kirk inwardly cursed himself. But he didn't have time to ponder his momentous mistake. For at that moment, the view screen became intensely bright, and the color changed from blue to green. The Bridge crew shielded their eyes, some making sounds of discomfort. Kirk straightened in his chair, one hand covering his eyes.

"Captain James T. Kirk!"

The voice seemed to come out of everywhere and resonated throughout the entire Bridge. It felt like the sound filled the entire space, and Kirk, his eyes closed, used his hands to cover his ears, attempting to shut some of it out, and retain his hearing.

"Captain James T. Kirk!" the voice boomed again, and Kirk ignored the pressing question of how the _hell_ this unknown entity knew his name, choosing, instead, to growl,

"Yes!"

There was a silent moment, all the crew holding their breath, waiting for whatever this alien wanted to finally come forth. Then,

"Does the light, and the sound, bother you, Earth-men?"

The voice once more ricocheted against the walls. Kirk hastily yelled, "YES!"

"We apologize," the voice boomed. Then the light was mercifully dimmed.

Kirk carefully opened his eyes and saw, filling the view screen, a humanoid being, dressed in long, flowing robes of deep blue, its skin completely white, its eyes much the shape of humans', though slightly bigger, and with long, dark eyelashes. From its head (Kirk could not tell whether it was male or female – its voice, which might have served as a clue, had been strangely androgynous) flowed a sleek tumble of jet black hair – it fell past its shoulders, parts of it fastened behind its head. It looked at Kirk and blinked, once, then inclined its head regally.

"Welcome," it said, "to Alaeria."

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><p><strong>AN:** Cliffhanger! There are going to be plenty of these, so be prepared! ;)

Aaaaand ... review! Because reviews make me a happy fanfiction author.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Here it is, chapter four.

So, I've had my English grammar final today, and now that's over and done with, but I still have two finals to go. So does my beta, Judin. I'm still going to try to stick to the posting-every-friday thing, but if a chapter is late, it's just because I have too much to do. I have actually written all the upcoming chapters, but it's a matter of second and third drafts, and having them looked over. What can I say, I'm a perfectionist.

Anyway, thanks so much to those endlessly awesome people who reviewed! You make my heart soar.

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><p>There was complete silence on the Bridge. The appropriate human expression, Spock knew, would be that one could hear a pin drop. Why one would ever wish to hear a pin drop, Spock did <em>not<em> understand, but he concluded it must be one of those human oddities of which he had not yet been successful in obtaining significance. Nevertheless, the idiom appeared, in its practical use, to befit the situation. The eyes of all the crew were fixed on the alien creature. Its seemingly friendly greeting rang strangely in Spock's ears after it had brought them here so forcefully, and he had little doubts the thoughts of his fellow crewmen tended in the same direction.

He raised an eyebrow skeptically. Even the Captain, who was normally not lacking in communicative abilities, seemed momentarily at a loss for what to say. He stood with his hands at his sides, hands Spock attempted not to focus on just now, the Captain's eyes simultaneously wide with surprise and darkened with an emotion Spock had come to recognize as indignation.

Tense seconds passed by. Spock noticed one of Jim's hands clench into a tight fist. The Captain took a deep, slow breath, as if in an attempt at calming himself, then he spoke.

"You greet us as if your purpose is friendly," he said, his tone carefully measured, "yet you have brought us here by force, against our will. I am Captain James T. Kirk, and this is _my_ ship. I demand to know exactly what it is that you want with us, and when you intend on letting us go."

Spock tried adamantly not to admire this aggressive directness in his Captain, but found it very difficult. The Alaerian looked slightly taken aback, as if it had not expected such a hostile reception. Its large eyes widened, displaying violently purple irises, and its mouth, heretofore inexpressive, turned down minutely. Spock conjectured that the Alaerians' culture must be very different from that of humans, or Vulcans, if they expected friendship from their captives. The Alaerian opened its mouth and spoke in low, melodic tones.

"It was not our intention to harm your vessel," it said. "I confess we did not expect you to resist in such a manner."

"Then it is clear that you are not familiar with our race," Captain Kirk said acerbically.

The Alaerian inclined its head. "We thought our studies of your species had been sufficient to give us an understanding of your ways. It appears we have misjudged you, and your technology. We humbly apologize."

There was silence again. The Captain had crossed his arms over his chest. Spock's hands were locked behind his back as he pondered this development. He did not know whether he found it more disquieting that the Alaerians had studied humans or that they had, evidently, studied them with such a poor degree of accuracy. The Enterprise had already been exposed to a number of alien races who claimed familiarity with human culture, and these meetings had an unpractical propensity for the precarious.

The Alaerian opened its hands and extended them. "We desire friendship with you," it said. "You will come with us to Alaeria, and your ship will be repaired."

The Captain's expression was unmoved. "What do you want with us?" he said sharply.

The Alaerian tipped its head to one side, wearing an expression that might have been confusion. It was somewhat difficult to tell. When it did not immediately answer, Captain Kirk let out a frustrated sigh, and said,

"You dragged us all the way across the universe so that we would be your friends? Because it seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to for something so trivial. Where we come from, we generally introduce ourselves before we abduct each other."

Spock recognized Jim's particular brand of sarcasm, but it was apparently lost on the Alaerian, who seemed to frown as it said,

"My name is Iarna. Abduction was not our intent. We require your aid."

It had extended its hands again, holding both arms straight out from its body, directed forwards, its palms turned up. Spock surmised that it must be a gesture of amity.

Several of the crew members exchanged expressions of disbelief. Jim's eyes found Spock's, his look plainly denoting that he was unsure how to proceed. Spock held his gaze for just a brief moment, before turning his eyes back to the view screen. Normally, he would have moved to his Captain's side, to show support and friendship, but he did not trust himself near his friend at the moment. He needed to be alone, to meditate, to clear his mind of the unfortunate incident that had occurred such a short while ago. He did not doubt that Jim must have noticed his reaction, his obvious discomfort. Like so many times during the course of the past weeks, he felt distinctly ashamed. His eyes still determinedly intent on the alien creature, he heard Jim speak. He sounded tired now.

"If you wanted our help, why didn't you just contact us?" he said.

The Alaerian's eyes widened marginally once more. "We did not believe you would respond to such an approach," it said simply.

Spock considered this highly illogical behavior, and he found it surprising that an alien race that evidently had such an advanced knowledge of science and technology, should be so unknowledgeable with regards to social relations. On the other hand, he had to admit that intellectual advancement was not necessarily synonymous with sociological development.

"Fascinating," he muttered, to himself.

The Alaerian immediately focused its attention on him. It would appear the species had rather a keen sense of hearing. Spock made a mental note of this.

"You do not look like the others," it said directly. Spock raised an eyebrow in response. "You are not human?"

It seemed to be simultaneously a statement and a question. The Alaerian had plainly deduced that Spock could not possibly be human. Spock conjectured that this was the Alaerian's method for asking which race he belonged to. Apparently, the phrase "what are you?" was as indecorous on Alaeria as it was on Earth, or on Vulcan.

Spock straightened, almost reflexively. "I am Vulcan," he said.

"And human," Jim added pointedly. Spock looked at him, and then turned his gaze back towards the Alaerian.

"I am half Vulcan, half human," Spock amended.

"Vulcan," the Alaerian echoed, once more leaving an unspoken question hanging in the air: _what and where is that?_

"Vulcan is a desert planet approximately sixteen light years from Earth," Spock offered simply. He was not interested in going into specifics about his home planet at this time. The Alaerian, who appeared to have had great difficulty in discerning Captain Kirk's demeanor, seemed to understand Spock's reluctance immediately, for he inclined his head slightly and refrained from asking any further questions.

_Fascinating_, Spock thought.

"We had not expected to meet other species from that sector," the Alaerian said, sounding almost pleased. "We will be very happy to hear of your planet, and your culture, which must be very different from your shipmates', when we come to Alaeria."

The Alaerian looked at Captain Kirk once more. "We will arrive in approximately one half of your hours," it said. "All will be explained then. We thank you for your patience."

With no further ado, and no further clarification, the Alaerian ended the transmission. Spock cast a glance at Jim, who was staring at the view screen, his eyes filled with an annoyance so intense that, had he been pyrokinetic, the Enterprise might have stood some danger of being set on fire.

"What – damned – patience?" he said through gritted teeth, then he sat down, back rigid, hands clenched tightly into fists.

Though they had been in the Alaerians' tow for a great number of hours, the remaining minutes seemed to take a greater toll on the Bridge crew than the more substantial amount of time that had already elapsed. Ten minutes after the face-to-face with the alien, Lieutenant Sulu, looking excessively frustrated, leaned forwards in his chair and heaved a sigh.

"I feel like I'm going out of my mind with all this waiting. I almost wish they'd killed us."

The Captain gave him a sideways glance and a slightly amused head shake.

A few seconds ticked by in silence.

"Are we there yet?" Chekov said impatiently.

The entire Bridge burst into laughter. Chekov leaned back in his chair, looking pleased. Spock was convinced that either the crew was beginning to suffer from mild deliria, or he had missed something. He frowned.

"What are the chances we can blow them up, Spock?" Jim said when the laughter had died down.

Spock raised an eyebrow disapprovingly. "Very poor, Captain," he said seriously. "And even if it were possible, I would advise against it. There is little chance that –"

Jim held up a hand, and Spock stopped in his tracks, confused, and a little irritated.

"I was making a joke, Spock," the Captain said, with a half-smile. Spock shook his head.

With ten minutes left of their journey, Spock, taking a deep, calming breath, finally moved to his Captain's side. If they were to encounter this alien world, it was where he should be, inappropriate feelings aside. Jim, whose eyes had been locked on an indefinable spot on the floor, raised his head as he heard Spock approach. He wore an expression that was plainly hesitant. Spock locked his hands behind his back and deftly suppressed a wave of apprehension. Both men looked at each other for a moment. Then Jim's expression loosened. He gave Spock a small, tired smile.

"So," he said conversationally, his voice reflecting the fatigue in his expression, "what do you make of this, Mr. Spock?"

For some reason, the formal address produced a twinge of sadness in Spock, but he dismissed the illogical emotion and replied evenly,

"I find it difficult to determine the nature of our captors. Their conduct seems in every way illogical, yet I do not believe they are unintelligent."

"With the technology they use?" Jim said, eyebrows twitching upwards. "There is no doubt they are intelligent. But they might be entirely inexperienced in interplanetary relations."

Spock nodded curtly, glad that Jim's tone didn't seem to contain any immediately noticeable discomfort. "That was my thought as well," he agreed.

"And we know how dangerous an intellectually advanced race with limited social skills can be," Jim said warily.

"Indeed," Spock said. "Caution is advisable."

Jim looked at him for a moment, his expression suddenly difficult to analyze, though his eyes had adopted that mischievous smirk he sometimes wore when he, for some unfathomable reason, was amused by something Spock had said.

"Any other tips, Spock?" he said, a lighter edge to his tone.

Spock raised an eyebrow, guarded, and somewhat confused. "_Tips_, Captain?" he said.

"Yes," Jim replied, putting on a slight frown and folding his arms across his chest in a businesslike manner. "You know, words of wisdom, scientific advice, that sort of thing."

Spock had the distinct impression that he was being teased. He raised both eyebrows in a condescending expression, and, to his frustration, far from deterring the Captain from his present course, this made Jim smile in earnest.

"I would suggest not antagonizing your First Officer, Captain," Spock said before he could stop himself. "You might require my services in future."

His mouth had spoken before his brain had been given the time to assess the situation. This did not happen to him, _should_ not happen to him. He heard the blatant insinuation in his tone even as the words died in the air. Jim stared at him with an expression of surprise. Spock could not tell if his Captain was simply amused at his outburst, or whether he had understood, had seen, Spock's preference, and didn't know how to respond. Spock attempted to maintain a composed exterior as his insides screamed in mortification.

The silence that followed did not last for more than a few seconds, but those little units of time seemed to drag on endlessly. Then Jim laughed. It was such an unexpected sound, and such an intense relief, that Spock actually started. Several of the crew members turned in their seats with looks of curiosity. Jim waved a dismissive hand in their direction, then he smiled at Spock.

"Forgive me, Spock," he said warmly. "Sometimes I just can't help myself."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Highly illogical," he stated plainly. Jim let out another, small chuckle and, though he did not normally approve of such expressions of mirth, Spock found the sound inexplicably endearing.

As Alaeria gradually came into view, it became apparent that it was a planet a great deal larger than Earth, larger, even, than Vulcan. It was surrounded, much like Saturn, by what appeared to be a ring of ice particles, rocky debris, and dust, and indefinable clouds of what Spock took to be gases in the atmosphere gave the planet a color almost like violet. It did not look like a planet on which anything could live, but then a toxic atmosphere did not have to make existence impossible. It was also highly probable that the Alaerians required an entirely different kind of environment in order to survive.

The planet grew slowly larger until it nearly filled the view screen. From this distance it was possible to see, through the haze of fog clouding the atmosphere, vast expanses of vivid blue, as well as substantial areas of bright green. It would seem that Alaeria was quite a verdant planet, despite its hazardous appearance.

Spock moved over to his station, and, making use of the functions that remained intact, recalibrated his scanner and focused it on Alaeria. He straightened up only moments later, and, having filled his quota of "fascinatings" for the day, settled for a raised eyebrow and a quietly curious expression. Captain Kirk, who must have been looking in his direction, immediately rose from his seat and walked over to Spock, a frown on his face.

"Anything interesting?" he said, poorly concealed foreboding in his tone.

"Captain," Spock replied, putting his hands behind his back, "my scanner indicates that Alaeria has an oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere."

Jim raised his eyebrows and cast a brief glance at the view screen. "I know I'm no scientist, Mr. Spock," he said, and waved a hand in the direction of Alaeria, "but I was under the impression that an oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere generally looks less … _purple_."

"Such has been my experience as well," Spock said, allowing the merest trace of amusement to lace his tone.

"So how do you explain that?" Jim pointed once more at the view screen.

"I must confess myself regrettably ignorant, Captain," Spock replied. "I can think of few things, other than toxic substances, which produce that particular color."

"None of which show up on your scanner, I suppose," Jim said wearily.

"No, Captain," Spock confirmed.

Jim was pensive for a moment. "Remind me, Spock," he said slowly. "The reason for the atmosphere's coloring is that certain types of light are absorbed, while others are scattered in the air, right?"

"Simply put, yes," Spock answered, inclining his head, "but I believe I understand what you are thinking, and it is slightly more complicated than a simple mixture of colors."

Jim was, apparently, undeterred. "Maybe red light –"

"Red light is on a much longer wavelength, and, with few exceptions, passes through the atmosphere," Spock interrupted him.

Jim waved an impatient hand. "I know that," he said, sounding a little irritated, "but what if something in Alaeria's atmosphere reflects them back?"

Spock shook his head. "To my current knowledge, that is not scientifically possible," he said.

The Captain let out a quiet sigh and moved back to his chair, sitting down heavily. He fixed his eyes on the view screen with an expression full of stubborn determination, as if he intended to learn all there was to know about Alaeria through sheer force of will.

"Maybe it's some kind of force field," Lieutenant Sulu suggested after a moment of silence.

"Or maybe it is just for decoration," Chekov said, with a smirk. Lieutenant Sulu laughed. Spock arched an eyebrow, and Lieutenant Sulu, catching his eye, quickly sobered, clearing his throat before turning back to the view screen.

A moment later, the Bridge was filled with light once more, though this time of a slightly less searing nature. The crew, looking towards the view screen for the appearance of the stranger, were surprised when Iarna transported into their very midst.

The Alaerian was tall, approximately Spock's own height, and Spock was suddenly quite certain that Iarna must be male. He did not know precisely where this specific knowledge came from, but he was immediately convinced of its accuracy. There was something in his posture, his approach, and his dress, which reminded Spock of ancient Vulcan culture. The robe Iarna wore was of a dark blue reminiscent of indigo, and it was lavishly embroidered with silver thread, still, it was not flamboyant. On his feet he had a pair of slippers which but for their silvery hue would have been very plain.

Captain Kirk immediately rose from his chair, and the Alaerian extended his hand in greeting. Jim looked at it for a long moment, with evident reluctance on his face. Iarna, his hand remaining where it was, said,

"I am to understand that this is the traditional greeting among humans. Has my research been faulty?"

The Captain looked briefly at Spock, and then back at Iarna, whose outstretched hand was perfectly still, as if it had frozen in mid-air. It was very pale, like the Alaerian himself, almost white. His fingers were long and thin, delicate. Spock found them oddly fascinating.

Jim took his time in answering, and, knowing him, Spock understood this was his Captain's way of regaining some of the control this alien had taken from him. Finally, Jim said, his voice laced with subtle impatience,

"It is traditional, yes."

Iarna made a small movement of his arched eyebrows. It seemed to express confusion.

"Then why do you not take my hand?" he said.

Jim took a step towards him, his hands at his sides. Once more, he made a point of taking a little longer to answer than was strictly necessary.

"I believe I tried to make this point earlier," he said. "On Earth, we do not take kindly to being abducted and –"

"Abduction was –" the Alaerian interrupted him, clearly meaning to repeat his earlier statement, but the Captain would not hear it.

"– I don't care about your intent," he said loudly. "It's your _actions_ that matter. Whatever you _meant_, this is what you did, and these are the consequences of your poor decisions. My ship has been destroyed, several of my crew have been injured, and I have been forced off my allotted course. I will shake your hand when you set things right."

Iarna blinked, once, and made the slightest inclination of his head before finally lowering his hand. Like so many before him, Iarna had made the mistake of underestimating humans' love of freedom. He seemed to understand this, and Spock believed the head gesture to be a form of apology. He moved over to his Captain, and the Alaerian inclined his head towards him as well. Spock copied the gesture. Iarna's eyes remained on him when next he spoke.

"We apologize, once more, for the inconvenience we have caused you," he said calmly. "You have our solemn vow that your ship will be returned to its original state, and that you will then be allowed to continue on your previous course."

Spock turned to Jim, who was looking at him with a pronounced frown on his face. "It seems a reasonable proposition, Captain," he said. When Jim did not reply, he continued, "I must remind you that there is little we can presently do on our own except succumb to lack of oxygen, and I willingly admit that that particular prospect is not very enticing."

Jim raised an eyebrow in an expression that seemed caught between frustration and indecision. Finally, he turned to the Alaerian.

"As my First Officer states, we have little other choice but to come with you," he said, "but before you get any help from us, you are going to find materials to repair our ship, and you are going to tell us who you are and why we're here. Do I make myself clear?"

The commanding tone appeared lost on the Alaerian, but he held out his hand once more, and said, amicably, "You shall have everything you require, and any information we possess, we will happily transfer to you."

Captain Kirk eyed the extended body part for another moment, then, with a slightly exasperated expression, took the Alaerian's hand, giving it the smallest of shakes before letting go very abruptly. Iarna, without lowering his hand, turned it towards Spock, who hesitated. Explaining the Vulcan culture of touching hands would require time and effort. In addition to this, he could not but admit that he was somewhat intrigued by this individual. Jim, unaware of Spock's resolution, hastened to explain.

"Spock is a Vulcan. They don't –"

He stopped immediately as Spock proffered his hand, shaking the Alaerian's with dignity. Spock ignored Jim's surprised expression. Iarna's hand was very warm, warmer even than Jim's, and it was logical to assume his body temperature must be above the average human's. The contact sent a thrill of warmth up Spock's arm, and he deftly let go before the feeling could spread. Iarna then turned back to Jim, whose eyes were fixed on Spock with a kind of bewildered expression.

"Will you transport down now?" the Alaerian said, the faint inflection at the end just barely lending the statement an air of questioning.

Kirk shook his head and moved his eyes from Spock to Iarna. He seemed to take a moment to regain his equilibrium. "Will we require life support systems down there?" he said finally, by way of an answer. "Is your atmosphere suited for humans? Our scanners are not functioning well."

This was an understatement, but Spock conjectured that the Captain wished to put as little emphasis as possible on the now quite dilapidated state of his beloved ship.

"Our atmosphere is composed mainly of oxygen and nitrogen," Iarna replied immediately. "I have understood that this is suitable for your race."

Spock would have thought that this might have been considered good news, but Jim did not look like the information pleased him.

"However," the Alaerian continued after a small pause, "I believe our temperatures are somewhat lower than you are accustomed to. Perhaps you have some method of insulating yourselves?"

Jim raised an eyebrow just as Doctor McCoy sauntered onto the Bridge, took one look at the Alaerian, and promptly twitched to a halt.

"What in the name of –" he started, but was, perhaps thankfully, not able to express himself further, as the Alaerian instantly moved over to him and, having apparently become fond of the human greeting, offered his hand to the Doctor.

Doctor McCoy recoiled and took one, slightly nervous look at the stranger before moving around him and retiring to Jim's other side. Once more, the Alaerian made the slightest twitch of his eyebrows – the expression Spock interpreted as confusion. He walked back to them, and immediately addressed himself to Spock.

"Am I not performing the greeting correctly?" he said.

"Your greeting is eminently suitable," Spock replied evenly. "I believe my human shipmates are a little overwhelmed."

The Alaerian seemed surprised. "Oh?" he said. "And you are not –" it seemed to take him a moment to recall the word "– _overwhelmed_?"

"I am a Vulcan," Spock replied. "Vulcans are not commonly susceptible to such emotions."

Next to him, Doctor McCoy snorted loudly, and Spock turned to him with a raised eyebrow.

"Not susceptible to emotions my hat," he said, shaking his head, and Spock had some difficulty trying to understand what the Doctor's hat could possibly accomplish in this equation, but he quickly set it aside as one of Doctor McCoy's many oddities.

The Alaerian seemed to be having similar interpretive difficulties, but he, too, appeared to decide the benefits of attempting to explain the Doctor's speech were not so great that it was worth the trouble. He turned to the Captain, who remembered Iarna's previous question.

"We have warm clothing," he said unenthusiastically. "We will go get it. But I doubt our transporter is working."

"We have means of transporting you safely," Iarna said.

"Well, excellent," Jim said, with what Spock assumed to be a note of sarcasm. "Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy and I will beam – or transport – down." He turned back to Iarna. "Do you have equipment that can help us fix our life support systems? If not, the entire crew needs to be removed from here, and quickly."

Iarna inclined his head again. "I will send someone to speak to your Engineer."

Captain Kirk nodded minutely and muttered a hasty word of reluctant thanks before walking to the turbolift and beckoning Spock and Doctor McCoy to follow him. As the turbolift doors shut, they caught a glimpse of the Alaerian, looking at the Bridge of the ship with an expression of faint interest. When they were alone, the Captain turned to Doctor McCoy.

"How is the Lieutenant, Bones? Is she going to be ok?" Jim's voice carried a note of deep concern.

"She's going to be fine," the Doctor replied, with a slight smile. "She's awake, and perfectly healthy. I was coming to tell you, but … I got a little distracted." Jim shrugged, as if to say this was understandable. "I think whatever she heard just put her body into temporary shock. But she seems alright now. I've run her vitals about fifty times, just to be sure. I think she was relieved when I left."

The Captain nodded, looking pleased with this information. "Will she be alright by herself? Who's there with her now?"

"She'll be just fine, Jim," Doctor McCoy answered. "Nurse Chapel is down there, and Christopher hasn't left her side." He cast a sideways glance at Jim, a crooked smile curving his lips. "Do you think he might be sweet on her?" he said softly.

Jim quickly shrugged, but his hands twitched, just a little, and an unfathomable expression found its way to his features. Spock found he did not appreciate it.

"I don't know," he said, with a nonchalance that seemed to Spock just a little too perfect. "He hasn't expressed any interest to me."

He spoke with a finality that seemed to say that the topic was ended. But Doctor McCoy looked at him with a quietly curious expression, and then, for some reason, he turned the expression on Spock. Spock raised an eyebrow, but felt suddenly uneasy. The Doctor's gaze passed steadily between them until the turbolift stopped, and the moment the doors opened, Spock, quickly acknowledging the order to meet on the Bridge in five minutes, strode past the two of them and headed, with determination, towards his chambers.

His body temperature being even lower than his human shipmates', he would have to dress well. He was, naturally, prepared for such situations, and had many articles of clothing that would help him preserve warmth. Closing the door to his quarters, he removed his shirt and pants, and donned a pair of Vulcan undergarments made specifically to keep the body warm. They were of a light, comfortable material which had some of the same qualities as wool, though a great deal more effective, and much softer.

Having put his uniform back on, he laced his boots and fetched a standard issue jacket out of his closet, which was designed to withstand the many effects of the varied weather they encountered. It was black, with the Enterprise logo on the front, a high collar and a detachable hood. Spock found it highly useful.

He was the first to return to the Bridge, and Iarna, seeing him come in, walked over to him with gliding footsteps. He seemed very light and graceful, as if he, despite a relatively normal size, weighed much less than the average human.

"You are prepared?" he said when he stood in front of Spock.

Spock nodded, hands behind his back. "Yes," he said evenly. The Alaerian's lips made the minutest turn upwards in what was clearly his version of a smile.

"You are very intriguing," Iarna said after a small moment. Spock, finding the suddenness of this statement surprising, raised his eyebrows. Iarna explained. "You seem to share some of our expressions, some of our attributes. I find your features … less problematic to interpret."

Spock considered a moment. "You seem to have a less violent way of expressing of your emotions," he said quietly. "This is a trait that Vulcans share."

Iarna inclined his head once more. "It will be very interesting to hear more about you," he said, with amity. Spock nodded curtly.

They both turned their heads as the turbolift doors opened and Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy, followed by Cadet Christopher, all wearing matching jackets to guard against the cold, stepped onto the Bridge. Spock's brows contracted at the sight of the Cadet, and when he moved over as if he intended to join them in their mission, Spock turned to his Captain.

"Will the Cadet be joining us?" he said, forcing his tone to exhibit a sense of normalcy despite the fact that the possibility of the Cadet's accompanying them caused him an illogical yet intense surge of displeasure.

Jim sent him a look he could not properly understand, and said, "Yes, Mr. Spock." He kept his eyes on Spock, and explained. "Christopher requested to join us, to get some hands-on experience in dealing with different worlds and races. I thought it was a reasonable request."

Spock battled with himself for a moment. He did not want the Cadet to come with them, but he knew the Captain's decision took precedence over his dislike. However, searching his mind, he could not condone taking a trainee on a potentially dangerous mission, and felt it was his inescapable duty to inform the Captain of his misgivings.

"Captain," he said calmly, "are you quite certain that bringing the Cadet along is a sensible idea? I am concerned that a situation such as this might –"

He was cut off as Captain Kirk grabbed him by the arm and led him resolutely away from the group. Leaning in to cloak his words, he whispered fiercely,

"Mr. Spock, I do not know what your problem with Christopher is, but you need to get over it. Now. This is an excellent opportunity for him to learn, and I don't see that there is any more danger here than we will encounter anywhere else. You yourself seemed to think these aliens friendly enough."

Spock hesitated, but was forced to acknowledge the Captain's logic, and nodded. He did not truly believe the Alaerians would harm them.

"Good," Captain Kirk said resolutely. "Then we'll do as I say."

"Captain," Spock said, as Jim started to turn away. "Perhaps I should remain here."

Captain Kirk's eyebrows moved up towards his hairline. "Why, Spock?" he said, with intensity, then, his voice softer, "I need you."

Spock could try as hard as he mustered, but he knew he could not resist those three words, however much they tortured him. He reluctantly nodded.

"Very well, Captain," he said, unable to keep the defeat out of his tone.

Captain Kirk turned back, apparently satisfied, and Iarna approached him.

"Is everything in order?" he said, his eyes moving between the Captain and Spock, who stood some paces behind him, wary, for the moment, of coming too close. His emotions were bubbling much too near the surface, and he needed some distance.

"Mr. Sulu," Jim said, turning to the helmsman. "You have the conn." He then turned to Iarna. "Ok," he said. "How do we do this?"

Iarna stretched out his hand, which contained several small orbs roughly two inches in diameter. Like much of their equipment, these orbs had a silvery hue, though the inside of them glowed with a color much like that of their mysterious atmosphere.

"These are beacons," he said. "You will take one each, and our transporters will be able to locate you. I believe their locative function is similar to that of your communicators."

He turned his hand first towards Captain Kirk, who took one of the orbs. Iarna offered his hand to the other three in turn, and then placed the remaining orbs in a pouch he kept on the silver belt which was fastened around his robes, close to his hips. He kept one orb in his own hand, which he promptly closed around it, motioning for the rest of them to do the same.

There was a scattering of bright, silver light, and then they found themselves in a cavernous hall, lit with hundreds of candles. The ceiling, which was immensely tall, was supported by strong walls and a row of ornate pillars which ran down the middle of the space. There were tall windows on the left side, through which the party could see what appeared to be a garden. Drapes of a dark blue hung from the windows, the material light and delicate. On the northern and southern side there were immense doors of a dark wood Spock did not recognize. On the eastern wall, there were a series of concave depressions, placed next to each other with mathematical precision. Each hollow was covered in unrecognizable writing, and a dim light shone from the floor, illuminating the texts. Judging by the size of this particular corridor, Spock conjectured that the structure they were currently located in, must be of an enormous stature.

They eyes of his shipmates roamed around the place, and Spock knew they must be taking in the details, as he was. Iarna focused his eyes on each in turn, with patience, allowing them time to examine. When they had surveyed the space to their temporary satisfaction, Iarna motioned towards the door on the northern side, and they followed him the length of the deserted hall, continuing to look about them as they walked.

They stopped in front of the door, and Iarna placed one long-fingered hand on its frame. The action seemed to trigger some kind of mechanism, for they heard a faint _ding_ from inside – it appeared to be a doorbell – and a moment later, the door swung open. Spock regarded the doorframe with interest, and noticed that the door, like those of Earth in older times, hung on hinges, though these, like so many other things here, were of a bright silver.

On the other side of the door stood another Alaerian, this one with a much darker skin tone, his hair a deep red, and a great deal shorter than Iarna's. He – for Spock was certain that this one must also be male – wore robes like Iarna's, his of a dark green, fastened at the hips with a belt of silver, and on his head he wore a tiny, intricate wreath of the same.

Stepping aside, he waved his hand elegantly towards the room within, and he inclined his head amicably as they passed.

The room was not as large as the hall, though more lavishly decorated. From the ceiling hung strings of silver, sporting small lights of different shapes and colors. The chamber was not very bright – unlike the hall, it did not contain any windows – and the suspended lights gave the impression of a space full of stars, making it seem almost as if the room were somehow floating in the cosmos. All around the walls stood beautiful shelves full of books of all ages and sizes, some clearly on the verge of falling apart, others apparently new. In the middle of the room, a group of silver chairs stood facing the door, and filling most of these, as if they were spectators awaiting a performance, were at least a dozen Alaerians.

His fellow crewmen started upon seeing this collection of aliens. Spock merely raised interested eyebrows.

The Alaerians were, unlike many of the species they came across, of completely different colors and complexions. Some were almost white, like Iarna, others were dark-skinned, red-skinned, or even green-skinned. Most colors appeared to be represented. Their statures were much the same as Iarna's; though they were sitting, they seemed tall, and they were slender, but clearly strong. They all had the same intense, purple eyes. Now that Spock had the opportunity to see so many of the Alaerians, he immediately spotted the difference between the males and the females. Several of the sitting Alaerians were very obviously feminine. They did not seem to have apparent female parts such as humans, and Vulcans, did, but their faces were softer, with fuller lips and darkened eyes, their necks longer, and their hair thicker and straighter.

The Alaerian who had opened the door came towards them, and he, like Iarna, extended his hand to Captain Kirk. This time Jim took it immediately, and, though his face contained none of its habitual warmth, he even attempted a small smile, as if he had decided to pacify.

"I am Viera," the Alaerian said as he shook the Captain's hand. He proffered his hand to the rest of them in turn, ending with Spock, who once more took the hand lightly in his own, letting go as fast as possible while upholding the standards of decorum.

Viera's hand was also very warm, and Spock surmised that high body temperature must be something the Alaerians shared. This was logical, as Spock, despite adequate clothing, could feel the sting of cold on his face even here, inside, and he supposed the outside must be a great deal colder.

Captain Kirk, who had introduced himself to the Alaerian as he shook his hand, now stepped forwards.

"I was promised answers," he said seriously, "and equipment to help repair my ship."

Viera moved to him, and inclined his head in the same fashion as Iarna. "Yes," he said calmly, then he waved his hand toward the sitting Alaerians, and one of them, a blue-skinned, dark-haired female, stood up and walked gracefully over. She wore a robe of a green, silken material, trimmed, like Iarna's, with silver.

"This is Laeri," Viera said. "She is one of our foremost technical experts. She will assist you."

Laeri also inclined her head. Captain Kirk looked at her with a slightly confused expression. Then he shook his head slightly, and forced another, very small smile.

"My Chief Engineer will be overseeing the repairs," he said officially. "His first task is to repair the life support systems, so that my crew doesn't suffocate. Anything you can do to help will be … greatly appreciated."

Laeri inclined her head once more. It was, apparently, a very common gesture for the Alaerians. "I will transport to your ship with a team of technicians," she said. Her voice had the same, melodic quality as Iarna's, though it was somewhat higher in pitch.

Captain Kirk nodded, and Laeri exited the room without any further information. The Captain looked after her with a slightly puzzled expression. Spock moved to his side. Another of the sitting Alaerians rose and moved forwards.

"I am Siora," he said, and his voice seemed to carry an innate importance. "I am the Keeper of the Sign."

Captain Kirk, Cadet Christopher and Doctor McCoy looked at him with questioning expressions. Spock merely frowned. Iarna stepped forwards.

"Siora," he said. "They are not familiar with our customs." Siora inclined his head, and Iarna turned to Spock and the humans. "The Sign is the one thing left to us by the Architect," he said reverently. "We keep it safe, so that, in time, we can learn to understand."

There was a small pause.

"What is this understanding that you seek?" Spock asked, feeling it was the logical question to ask.

"We hope to understand, so that the Architect becomes known to us."

This did not answer his question. Apparently it was not particularly illuminating for his Captain either, who said, sounding skeptical,

"But what do you want to understand?"

"Many things." It was Siora who now spoke. "Why things are, what they were, why we came to be, how we can better ourselves."

"And this – _sign_ – it can help you with this?"

Siora made a tiny shake of his head. "No," he said. "We do not understand it. We never have. This is why we have seen that we need assistance. We need to find her."

"The Architect?" Captain Kirk asked.

"Yes," Siora replied.

"Why? And why us?"

"Because we have seen you," Iarna said, his eyes on the Captain. "Your name, Captain Kirk, is known to us. Your ship has travelled far, and you have seen, and discovered, many things."

Jim's frown deepened. "I still don't understand. You have proven your technology is far superior to ours. Surely you must travel as well."

Iarna also shook his head. "Our technology is not superior," he said humbly, "it is merely different. We believe you can help us because you can see the worlds through experienced eyes. We are bound to our existence here. The Architect wished us to take care of this home, of the people and creatures in it. This we do. We cannot abandon that calling."

There was a long silence.

"So … you want us to find the Architect," Captain Kirk said finally, unable to hide the note of displeasure in his voice.

"Who is the Architect?" Cadet Christopher said, with curiosity, and something akin to condescension. Spock fought the urge to silence him. "Is it like God?"

The Alaerians looked at him with that quietly confused expression Spock had seen on Iarna's face a few times.

"God …" Siora said slowly. "We do not recognize this word. The Architect is the one who created us. We do not know if she still exists. But if she does, she is the one who can give us clarity."

"You are not happy with your lives here?" Spock politely asked.

Iarna's eyes widened slightly. "Yes," he said, with a slightly surprised inflection, "of course. We are very content. Our planet is safe, and peaceful. There are no wars, no poverty, and everyone is cared for, and loved. We simply wish to know more about how we came to be. We continue to evolve, and we wish to know what the future holds."

"With evolution comes the thirst for knowledge," Spock said quietly.

"Yes," Iarna concurred.

"And the Sign?" Captain Kirk asked.

"It is a symbol, perhaps a letter, perhaps a name, or a place – we do not know," Siora said. "We believe it to be an indication of the Architect's origins. We are hoping that you can help us discover its meaning, and, consequently, the place where the Architect might be found."

"You say _she_," Doctor McCoy said, speaking for the first time since they had transported down. "Your creator is female?"

Siora inclined his head. "This is what we have been told."

"Well, that sets your beliefs apart from the old Earthly religions," the Doctor said, sounding simultaneously impressed and a little bewildered.

"Religion …" Siora said. "This is another word we are not familiar with. But the gender of the Architect is not important. Our records state that she is female, and this is what we know."

Spock admired the unemotional way of stating this. It was clear that the Alaerians' faith, if one could so term it, was based on a sense of logic, of information.

Captain Kirk looked at the Alaerians for a long moment, wearing an unfathomable expression. "How are we supposed to find the Architect?" he said finally.

"We do not know that you can," Siora said. "We wish you to view the Sign. Perhaps you will recognize it. If not, you might come across it on your journeys. We do not require you to travel further than you intend. We only submit to you the request that you keep your eyes open during the course of your voyage, and if you discover anything concerning the Architect, you will make enquiries, and bring us word."

The Captain was silent for another moment. Then he folded his arms across his chest. "And if we refuse?" he said.

"You are free to give any answer you choose," Iarna said earnestly. "If you do not wish to assist us, we will help you repair the damages we caused to your ship, and you may continue on your journey unhindered."

Jim raised his eyebrows, his expression skeptical, as if he did not believe that the Alaerians' assurance of their free will was sincere. Iarna once more extended his hands as he had on the Enterprise, and bowed his head slightly, as if in deference, as he spoke.

"I fear our mode of conducting you here has made your reception of us something negative," he said quietly. "I must, once more, apologize. Please forgive our ignorance. We are not a violent people, and we do not wish you any harm."

Yet another silence followed, and then Jim said, "I assume repairs to our ship will take some time. Will you allow us some days to consider your proposal?"

"Naturally," Iarna said immediately. "You may take as long as you choose."

"Very well," Captain Kirk said. "If that is all, I would like to return to my ship now, and oversee the repairs, make sure my crew is alright, and get some sleep."

Iarna inclined his head once more. "We will transport you back to your ship," he said, "and we will allow you to keep the beacons you were presented. If you require assistance, you simply place them in your palm, as before, and apply pressure. You will be transported to the main hall, where there will be someone waiting."

Captain Kirk nodded curtly, and, beckoning Cadet Christopher, Doctor McCoy and Spock to follow, turned and exited the room. Iarna followed them. When they were out in the hall once more, Iarna instructed them to take out their beacons. A light pressure of the hand, and the silvery lights appeared once more, fading to reveal the Bridge of the Enterprise, which was now teeming with activity. Humans and Alaerians alike were moving to and fro, rewiring, replacing and repairing everything that had malfunctioned.

Captain Kirk moved swiftly over to his Command Chair and called Mr. Scott on the intercom. A few seconds passed before his voice was heard on the Bridge.

"Scott here, Sir!"

He sounded a great deal more cheerful than the last time he had been summoned.

"Status report, Scotty," the Captain said. "How is life support holding up? Are the repairs underway?"

"It's going very well, Sir," Mr. Scott replied. "We isolated the problem with life support and fixed it, so it should run just fine now."

Captain Kirk exchanged a surprised glance with Doctor McCoy. "That was fast," he said, impressed.

"Aye," Mr. Scott conceded. "These Alaerians know what they're doin', I'll tell you that! We had a little trouble synchronizing our technologies at first, but we seem to be workin' out the problems. The Alaerians have the most amazing tools and techniques. We could definitely learn a thing or two, Captain."

"Do you have a time estimate, Scotty?" the Captain asked.

There was a moment's pause. "Ah, I dunno, Sir," Mr. Scott replied. "It's difficult to say, but I'd give it at least a week."

Captain Kirk nodded. "Thanks, Scotty," he said. "Kirk out."

That night passed in relative calm. The Bridge crew were given leave to rest themselves, and even Spock felt that he could use some sleep, and quiet meditation. He attempted the latter before retiring for the night, but, as before, his success was limited. He knew it was only a matter of time before it would become impossible for him to maintain a composed exterior if he could not resolve his inner turmoil. The frustration of the failed meditation, however, only served to increase said upheaval.

So Spock lay down on his bed with a troubled mind and a weary body. He did not often feel quite so fatigued, but the last weeks had been difficult. He attempted not to let his thoughts wander to his Captain, but Jim's hand on his, the intense warmth he had felt just earlier that day, was intoxicating to him. He knew he could not continue this way. He knew his feelings were illogical. Jim was his friend, his Captain. He would not destroy their relationship by succumbing to his emotions.

Yet it seemed that was precisely what he was doing. It was like a force of nature, something directing him one way, without the possibility of turning back or regaining his focus. As if they wished to aggravate his already dejected mood, his thoughts, unwillingly, flew to one of many incidents from his childhood, where he had lost control.

_He was six years old. It was winter, and the air had grown colder. Spock was freezing. He had not dressed properly. He had insisted he would be warm enough. He knew his father had let him deceive himself so that he would suffer the consequences and, having been taught a lesson he would, next time, behave more logically._

_He trudged along next to his father, whose lack of compassion for his plight hurt him deeply. But he did not say anything. It was not the Vulcan way to complain. And he knew he had no chance of gaining his father's respect if he didn't attempt to control his emotional impulses. He was half human, and weak. He lacked the control, and discipline, of the other children his age. He knew he was a constant disappointment to Sarek, a Vulcan of the highest standing, who should not, and would not, have a weak son._

_So Spock bit back a wave of tears as the sun sank behind the horizon, and the wind bit at his exposed cheeks. Fortunately, they did not have far to go. As they moved through the town, Spock kept his head bent, and forced himself to keep pace with his father, who walked with quick, determined strides._

_As they finally stepped into their residence, a welcome rush of warmth washed over him, and he sighed. Immediately, Sarek turned to him with a pronounced frown on his face._

"_I told you your attire was not sufficiently warm," he said coldly. "You did not listen."_

_Spock lowered his head. "I am sorry, father," he said respectfully._

"_You will attend me in future," was his simple and stern reply. He sent Spock to his room with a motion of his hand._

_Spock wanted to say goodnight to his mother, but he did not dare emerge from his chamber until his father told him he might. But she would come to him. Surely, she would come to him._

_So he sat on his bed, fully dressed, and waited._

_It had been a difficult day. He had overreacted again. It was the second time this week, and Spock was intensely grateful that his father had not been informed. One of the Vulcan children had taunted him, had mocked and ridiculed him until he had lost his temper. Lashing out, he had bombarded the child with a litany of curses, words he did not even know he was capable of pronouncing tumbling out of his mouth before he had the chance to stop them._

_A moment of shock had followed. A few grown Vulcans had heard him, and they approached him with expressions of disapproval and anger. The children had turned on their heels and left. Angry tears had poured down his cheeks while the adults had attempted to make him recover himself, their lack of empathy so distressing that they, far from lessening his misery, added fresh torrents of tears to the utter embarrassment already pouring down his face._

_They didn't understand him. And he didn't blame them. He was a freak, an outcast. Why could he not control himself? Why was it so difficult?_

_Spock lay down on his back, still in his clothes, and fixed his eyes on the ceiling. It was plain. Brown. He tried to focus on it, clear his mind, shut everything else out._

_He was successful. For about two minutes. Then the incident from earlier that day came crashing down on him with full force. A few, frustrated tears trickled out of the corner of his eye and down onto his bed spread. He drew in a slow, ragged breath. He did not hear the door open._

"_Spock." His father's voice jarred Spock like a bolt of lightning. He snapped up into a sitting position and lifted embarrassed eyes to his father's face. Nothing was said for a long moment._

"_You will restrain yourself," Sarek said._

"_Yes," Spock whispered._

"_You will not achieve the requirements of Vulcan mental discipline if you do not attempt to focus," he continued._

_His father's voice, though stern, was not unkind, but Spock felt the injustice of this statement like a blow to the face. Gritting his teeth against the onslaught of anger clogging his facilities, he said, as calmly as he could muster,_

"_I _am_ trying, Father."_

"_Then I cannot understand why you are making such little progress."_

_Spock stood up, quickly._

"_It is difficult," he said, and his voice was low, his indignation humming dangerously close to the surface. "I am half human."_

_Sarek regarded him for a quietly tense moment. "Yes," he said finally. "This is why you must work harder, be better, than other Vulcans. Our heritage only composes half of you. You cannot survive in this world as a human."_

"_You do not wish me to be human," was Spock's reply, which took both him and his father by surprise._

_Sarek considered him. Then, "No," he said, "I do not."_

_Spock felt his body start to shake, his fury mounting to levels he did not know he could withstand._

"_I cannot change what I am," he said slowly._

_His father had not replied. His eyes had darkened with something akin to disappointment, and he had turned his back._

_At that point, the child Spock could no longer hold himself back. It was as if something ruptured within him, and a terrible scream burst forth from his lips, a scream that carried with it years of pain and frustration, a scream that would follow him years into the future. His father had taken him by the shoulders, shaken him, demanded he stop, but Spock could not have stopped had he been offered all the knowledge in the Vulcan Science Academy. His mother had come in, and, horrified, had wrapped him tightly in her arms, where his screams had, after his father left the room, slowly died down against her warm shoulder._

Spock wished he could scream now. It felt like everything was building up inside him, building up to some unknown point where everything would finally break down into chaos and confusion. He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself, but as he let it out, it only seemed to taunt him.

It was illogical, this train of thought.

Spock finally forced his mind to settle into an uneasy sleep, and he awoke, early the next morning, feeling more fatigued than when he had lain down.

He was the first Senior Officer on the Bridge, and he sent a grateful replacement crew to their beds, thinking that, as the Enterprise was docked, a complete Bridge crew was hardly necessary.

The Alaerians had brought an abundance of equipment, and Spock, finding the appropriate tools, immediately set to work on the Science Station, fixing the circuits, rewiring, replacing and checking functions as he went along.

His internal clock told him that he had been working for about one hour and seventeen minutes when the turbolift doors slid open and a set of familiar footsteps found their way towards him. Spock, who was bent over his scanner, examining and correcting its range, turned, and Captain Kirk greeted him with a smile.

Spock nodded curtly and turned back to his work. Jim walked over and stood next to him, saying nothing for so long that Spock was finally compelled to abandon his work once more and turn an inquisitive eye on his Captain. Jim eyed him for a moment with a frown on his face.

"You look tired, Spock" he said, his face expressing sympathy, and concern.

Spock had not been aware that his exhaustion was manifesting so perceptibly. He felt a sense of shame, and turned his eyes down briefly, before meeting his friend's gaze once more.

"Didn't you sleep?" Jim continued.

Spock made a civil nod. "Yes, Captain," he said evenly. "I slept."

Jim's frown deepened. "You look worn out. Are you sure you don't need to –"

"My physical state is quite satisfactory," Spock lied. "You need not worry."

Captain Kirk put his hands on his hips. "I believe you were the one who, only yesterday, ordered me to bed, Spock," he said firmly.

Spock attempted not to think of how much he desired that statement to have had a different significance. He endeavored to sound confident and aloof as he said,

"If I fall asleep performing my duties, I believe it is in your right as Captain to order me to rest. As I am, however, currently executing my tasks with all my normal facilities, I suggest my usefulness is greater here than in my chambers."

There was a small twinkle in the Captain's eye. "I did not fall asleep yesterday," he said, sounding slightly sheepish.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I respectfully submit that that is only true due to my timely intervention," he said, with a touch of levity.

The Captain let out a small laugh. "Very well, Spock," he said smilingly. "I trust you to inform me if you need a break."

Spock straightened.

"Vulcans do not require –"

"Yes, yes, you're indestructible and invincible and can take us all down with your hands tied behind your back," Captain Kirk interrupted him with a sideways grin.

Spock took a moment to interpret this string of insanity, and came to the conclusion that, once again, his friend was teasing him. He decided, rather than play along, to change the subject. He felt that witty banter with his Captain could hardly be productive towards his goal of disciplining his mind to think of his friend in a more professional manner.

"Have you made a decision regarding the Alaerians' request?" he said.

Captain Kirk appeared to take a moment to reroute his mind to this more serious topic. He frowned slightly.

"I have," he said quietly.

Spock waited patiently.

"I think their request is reasonable," Jim said after a moment. "I've been running it through my mind again and again, and I can't see how it could hurt to take a look at this Sign of theirs."

Spock nodded. "I agree," he said.

Jim eyed him for a moment with an expression Spock could not decipher. "You like them, don't you?" he said.

Spock raised his eyebrows. "I find them interesting," he said. "I believe Alaerians and Vulcans share some traits that make it less problematic for me to understand them."

"Well, I'm glad one of us does," the Captain said with a sigh. Spock looked at him. "They confuse me," he said. "For one thing, I can't for the life of me tell the difference between the men and the women. I wouldn't be surprised if I manage to cause some kind of diplomatic incident."

"Just stay away from all of them, Jim, and you'll be fine."

Both Captain Kirk and Spock turned to see Doctor McCoy stepping out of the turbolift, accompanied by Lieutenant Uhura, who was smiling and apparently feeling a great deal better, and Cadet Christopher, who was stifling a yawn.

"Lieutenant," Captain Kirk said, stepping forwards and grasping her shoulder amicably. "I'm glad to see you've recovered."

The Lieutenant smiled at him. "Thank you, Sir," she said, and moved over to her station. "It was strange. It was like the sound paralyzed me. But I feel just fine now."

"Excellent," Jim said sincerely. "Well, Bones, Spock, are you ready to transport down to Alaeria?"

Spock nodded. Doctor McCoy made a slight grimace.

"Well, I guess I'd better come along," he said reluctantly. "Make sure you don't confuse the women and the men down there."

Jim sent him a skeptical expression. "So you can tell them apart then?"

The Doctor waved a dismissive hand. "I couldn't tell you which was which if my life depended on it," he said, shrugging. "I just figured I'd keep you off all of them."

Captain Kirk shook his head, a slight smile on his face.

"It's ok, Bones," Jim said. "Why don't you stay and oversee the repairs to Sickbay? On second thought, I don't think you'll be necessary down on the planet surface."

Doctor McCoy frowned. "Well, you might trip and impale yourself on something," he said. "Maybe I should come."

Jim motioned towards the turbolift. "I'll be fine. I'll have Spock with me. And he understands these aliens, don't you Spock?"

Spock raised his eyebrows, slightly taken aback. Doctor McCoy looked at him with a skeptical expression.

"Come on, Spock, let's get our jackets and go," the Captain said before Spock could respond. Apparently he was not required to.

Approximately seven minutes later, the Captain and Spock, clothed against the cold, arrived in the same spacious hallway as yesterday. They were instantly greeted by an unfamiliar Alaerian, who moved over to them and introduced herself as Telri before accompanying them into the chamber where they had convened yesterday.

Today, it was empty. However, Telri told them to wait while she went to assemble what she termed the Council, and Spock gathered this must be the group of Alaerians they had encountered the previous evening. They waited in silence for a few minutes before the Alaerians came gliding – for they walked with the most spectacular grace – through a door on the opposite side of the room.

Iarna, Siora and Viera approached them immediately, and extended their arms invitingly, as they had done the day before.

"Is there something you require?" Iarna said. "Are the repairs to your vessel progressing as you had hoped?"

Spock was, once more, intrigued by the Alaerians' obvious sense of decorum. They would not ask for his Captain's decision regarding their request before they had made enquiries into his own interests.

Captain Kirk nodded. "It is going very well," he said. "My Chief Engineer is very happy with the equipment and materials you have given us."

Iarna inclined his head regally. "I am pleased," he said simply.

They considered each other for a moment. Then Captain Kirk took a breath.

"We have considered your proposal," he said, and though they made little change to their demeanors, there was suddenly an unmistakable eagerness in the Alaerians' expressions. However, they kept their silence, waiting patiently for Captain Kirk's conclusion.

"We have decided to help you," he said quietly, and the smallest of smiles found its way to the Alaerian faces.

Siora moved closer to the Captain and placed a dark, long-fingered hand on his shoulder. "We thank you, Captain Kirk," he said formally. "Come."

The Captain, who did not seem to be expecting such an immediate invitation, started slightly, and, with a surprised expression, said, "Now?"

Siora contracted his brows minutely. "Yes, Captain Kirk," he said, "if it is not disagreeable to you."

Jim faltered for a moment, and then turned to Spock. "Can my First Officer accompany us?" he said, and Siora immediately tipped his head forwards in confirmation.

They followed Siora out of the room, through a door which blended so perfectly with the wall around it that Spock did not see it until Siora lifted a hand and pushed it lightly inwards. It appeared to be controlled by some kind of mechanism, for it did not hang on hinges, such as the other doors in this place appeared to, nor did it slide into the wall, such as the doors on the Enterprise. As if it hung on hooks in the ceiling, it simply seemed to extract itself from the wall,, whence it returned, seamlessly, after Siora, Captain Kirk and Spock had entered the room beyond.

The room they entered was small. From the ceiling hung many strings of light similar to those in the chamber they had just left. The walls, floor and ceiling were smooth, made from a material unknown to Spock, but which seemed to reflect some of the light, making the room appear bright despite its lack of windows. In the middle of the space stood a small, silver case, raised on a simple, wooden pedestal. The floor underneath appeared slightly sunken, as if this one piece had stood there for centuries without being moved.

Siora approached it with determination and, putting on a pair of thin gloves he extracted from the folds of his robes, placed his hands on either side of the silver case and gently opened the lid. Placing one hand within, he drew out a simple, silver chain with a plain pendant in the shape of a symbol Spock immediately recognized.

"A triquetra," Jim said softly. He looked from the symbol to Spock.

Siora, holding the chain delicately between the first and third fingers of his right hand, took a step towards them with a hint of anticipation.

"You recognize it?" he said quietly.

"It is a symbol we call a triquetra," Spock responded.

Siora's eyes widened marginally. "And the Architect?" he said.

Captain Kirk shook his head slowly. Spock responded, "That symbol, in Earth history, was utilized for everything from ancient mythology to witchcraft to more modern religions. I do not believe its origin has ever been precisely pinpointed."

Siora regarded them evenly, though Spock thought he saw a trace of disappointment in his face. Spock looked at his Captain, who was frowning pensively. A small moment of silence, then,

"The Architect," Jim said, "do you have another name for her?"

Siora seemed to deliberate for a moment.

"In the beginning, there was a label engraved on the Sign," he replied, "but we did not understand its meaning, so we gave the Architect a name of our own. In time, the true name faded."

"Can you remember the name?" Jim asked, and Siora made a small forward movement of his head.

"Yes," he said simply. "The Architect was called Trinity."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** See the little "review" button at the bottom of the page? You know you wanna ... come on then ... come on!

Ok, I'm going to stop that now. See you next week!

(You can stop by my deviantart page and check out previews for the chapters, by the way.)


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Hey guys. Sorry for the double delay. I couldn't post yesterday because I didn't have an internet connection. So this is going fairly well so far. Well, not for our main characters of course. To those of you who went "OH NO! NOT KIRK AND CHRISTOPHER!", you should ... um ... skip this first bit. I'm enjoying myself though. I love torturing the characters, as my beta will gladly inform you. So expect more pain before the end.

Anyway, we'll just crack on then, shall we?

As always, all glory and honor to Judin, my beta.

**Edit 13.06.11:** Just a quick note of explanation: I've had a comment about Christopher's name. The reason I continue to use his surname, and not _John_, is that all Star Trek characters are, with few exceptions, referred to by their surnames. Kirk is only referred to as Jim by McCoy and Spock, we don't even know Spock's first name, McCoy is never called Leonard, Uhura is never called Nyota, Scotty is never called Montgomery, etc., etc. Some characters, such as Spock, will constantly refer to his crew members formally, using titles or honorifics, whereas Kirk, who has a tendency to discard formality, will, as he does in TOS, refer to characters often using their surnames only.

This note is just to avoid confusion. All Star Trek related details are also thoroughly checked and re-checked, but typos do have a tendency to slip in, and even though I write many drafts, I can experience bouts of blindness with regards to my own writing, so if you notice some glaring aberration(s), make sure to let me know!

* * *

><p>So they had struck a deal with an unknown alien race, promising that they would go out and search for their Maker.<p>

… Well, worse decisions had been made.

Kirk was certain worse decisions must, at some point in history, have been made.

He rubbed his forehead gingerly as a dull pain started to build up behind his left temple, a small pain that promised a world of torment if he didn't get some sleep, and soon. He checked the time. It was one o'clock in the morning. It was one o'clock in the morning, he was exhausted, and he was sitting on his bed, staring at the wall. Why he was sitting, exhausted, on his bed, staring at the wall at one o'clock in the morning was difficult to explain. Needless to say, Kirk was growing somewhat frustrated.

He had retired to his room at ten o'clock, thinking he would get a decent night's sleep for a change. Goodness knows he needed it. The day, as well as the previous ones, had been spent talking to the Alaerians, learning about their culture and history, sharing their own, for all intents and purposes making friends. The problem with this was that Kirk wasn't quite sure he had gotten over his dislike of them. The Enterprise would need several more days' work until it was in any condition fit for continuing their voyage, and he still felt a strong sense of annoyance, like sharp little pokes in the arm, every time he considered the extent of the repairs necessary to fix his ship, not to mention who was responsible for the damage.

Nonetheless, ever since Siora had shown them the triquetra, he couldn't help but be intrigued. It wouldn't be the first time that symbols had travelled across the galaxy, but it was still very interesting. There was no proof, after all, that that particular figure originated on Earth. It was very possible that he and his crew had just stumbled across evidence of early alien influence, much earlier than any human research had, as of yet, been able to prove.

Kirk got up and began to pace the length of the room. He had completed two rounds when he heard a very faint knock at his door, as if the person on the other side were checking to see if he was asleep or not. Kirk walked to the door and, releasing the lock, let it slide open.

Cadet Christopher appeared on the other side, looking a little apprehensive.

"Did I wake you up?" he asked hesitantly.

Kirk immediately shook his head, and stood back to let him enter. "I couldn't sleep," he said honestly.

Christopher stepped past him, and the door slid shut. "I can't sleep either," he said, as he turned back to Kirk.

Kirk frowned slightly. He and Christopher hadn't really spoken much since their encounter three days ago. Kirk had been worried that he had scared the cadet away. No matter whether or not Christopher was interested in being somehow involved, Kirk still wanted to help him, to be his friend. He hoped he had not destroyed that possibility.

"What's on your mind?" he said quietly.

Christopher looked a little sheepish for a moment. "Honestly?" he said. "You."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "Really?" he said, somewhat uncertainly. "Should I be worried?"

Christopher let out a faint, slightly nervous laugh and took a careful step towards him. "Hopefully not," he said.

Kirk looked at Christopher for a moment, considering. He found he couldn't help himself. "So," he said, "what exactly is it that's keeping you up?"

There was a moment of silence. Then Christopher laughed. Kirk moved up to him and placed a hand on the back of his neck. Christopher met his gaze with a cocky grin in place.

"I thought I might have made you uncomfortable," Kirk said, as he felt Christopher's hot breath on his face. His blood was pumping with anticipation. Christopher led out a short, breezy laugh.

"Hardly," he said, and he leaned forwards and pressed their lips together, hard.

Kirk opened his mouth eagerly and ran his hands down the length of Christopher's torso, finding the hem of his shirt and pulling the garment unceremoniously off. His own shirt had been discarded before he retired for the night, and he spent a moment letting his eyes take in the slim, but muscular form of the Cadet.

Then they came together again, Kirk's arms wrapping around Christopher, pulling him close, grasping his shoulders, feeling his naked skin. The Cadet cupped Kirk's face with both hands, strong hands, warm hands. Then one of the hands slid down, down his bare chest, down to the lining of his pants, which were forcefully pulled down.

It was bliss. Pure, uncomplicated pleasure. They ended up on the bed, and a full hour later found both of them exhausted and exhilarated. Kirk, his mind finding an escape in the physical act, finally managed to settle down, and he had not been lying there long before he fell fast asleep.

He woke the next morning, for a moment uncertain as to why he was feeling so cheerful. Then he turned his head. Christopher, still asleep, lay next to him, his legs sprawled haphazardly under the covers, one arm stretched over his head. He breathed heavily. Kirk, taking care not to wake him, went to take a shower, afterwards donning his uniform. He moved back over to the bed, and placing a hand on Christopher's shoulder, gently shook him.

The Cadet's eyes flew open instantly, and he looked at Kirk with a groggy expression. Then he smiled. Kirk leaned in and placed a quick kiss on his lips before straightening up.

"I have to go," he said. "They're expecting me on the Bridge."

Christopher got up and stretched. "Ok," he said, amidst a yawn.

"Feel free to …" Kirk waved a casual hand at his quarters, letting his sentence trail off. He moved to leave, and was stopped by Christopher, who put a hand on his shoulder. He turned.

"Sorry," the Cadet said quickly. "I just thought I should clarify … this, whatever this is, what are the rules of letting people know about it?"

Kirk was surprised he had not considered this. He contemplated for a moment. "I think," he said, "that it might be a good idea not to be extremely forward about it just now. There's too much going on."

Christopher raised an eyebrow. "And you don't want people to know you're doing the rookie," he said, with a sideways grin.

Kirk let out a short laugh and shook his head. "It's been a while since I read the instructions manual, but I doubt my seeing you will be looked on with a friendly eye," he said. "Technically, I'm both your captain and your teacher, and I'm sure I'm breaking at least three rules by sleeping with you, so … let's keep it to ourselves for now and see what happens."

"Huh," Christopher said interestedly. "Your phrasing makes it sound like you anticipate a next time."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "Well, I certainly hope so," he said. "I haven't slept so soundly in ages."

"I'm not sure that's a compliment," Christopher said slowly.

Kirk walked up to him and, placing a hand on his lower back, pressed his mouth to the Cadet's, sneaking his tongue briefly between open lips before pulling back.

"Trust me," he said. "It's a compliment."

He turned to the door. "I hope to see you on the Bridge shortly," he said, before grabbing his standard issue jacket and walking out.

On the Bridge, everything was returning to normal. To restore to the crew a safe and convenient base of operations, all of the major repairs had been finished here, leaving only the smaller details, such as esthetics, which they took care of in between scenario checks and other necessary testing. Kirk was due for another meeting with the Alaerians today, but that wasn't until midday. He would spend the interim here. As Kirk moved towards the center seat, his eyes moved automatically towards the Science Station, but Spock was not occupying his usual position. Kirk frowned. The Vulcan had been the first person on the Bridge every morning since their arrival. Kirk wondered what might be keeping him.

Sitting down, he turned to Uhura, who was busy checking all hailing frequencies, making sure any and all obstructions had been removed.

"Lieutenant," he said. Uhura turned. "Has Spock reported for duty today?"

The Lieutenant frowned slightly. "No, Sir," she said, and it sounded like he was not the only person who had found this strange. "I haven't seen him this morning. I thought you might have given him the day off. He was actually looking exhausted yesterday – I don't think he even realized it."

Kirk frowned. He hadn't really paid Spock much attention yesterday; he was so preoccupied with everything that was going on that he didn't really have the capacity to be constantly scrutinizing his crew members. Still, he found it vaguely unsettling that Spock had clearly been so exhausted that he had been unable to hide it, and yet Kirk had not noticed. It made him feel slightly hollow.

Shaking his head, he said, "I didn't notice." He turned his head towards the blank view screen. "I would willingly have given him the day off had he asked for it."

This last sentence was said more to pacify himself than anything else, and as he looked around at Uhura, he could immediately tell that she could see straight through him. A tense moment passed as they locked eyes, but then a voice emanated from Uhura's station, requesting confirmation of something, and she turned and refocused her attention on her work. Kirk toyed with the idea of hailing Spock's quarters, to see if everything was ok, but thought better of it. If the would-be indefatigable Vulcan was _finally_ resting, it would probably be a really bad idea to disturb him.

So, instead, Kirk decided to focus his attention elsewhere.

"Mr. Sulu," he said to his helmsman, who promptly turned in his seat. "How are the trial runs coming along?"

Sulu, to Kirk's satisfaction, grinned. "Very well, Sir," he said happily. "The helm is responsive and running smoothly once more. It is difficult to pinpoint any precise complications until we take her for a real test flight though …"

Kirk could hear the longing in his voice. He could imagine that, after having been stranded here for four days, his helmsman was becoming somewhat restless. Kirk knew Sulu didn't like to go for a long time without navigating something. He sent his Lieutenant a reassuring smile.

"If the repairs continue to progress so smoothly, I'm sure we'll be flying again in no time," he said. Sulu smiled once more, and, with a small sigh of yearning, turned back to his work.

Chekov sat next to him, and was actively assisting him any way he could, as well as attempting to lock down some malfunction at his own console. He seemed to be having little luck, and every once in a while he would mutter something in indistinct Russian. Kirk didn't speak Russian, but the Ensign's tone led him to believe that he wasn't exactly witnessing the finer points of the language.

The minutes ticked by surprisingly quickly, and at the end of half an hour, Kirk decided to take a gander down towards Engineering, thinking he would check up on Scotty's progress. A secondary motive was to stop by Spock's quarters, and see if the Vulcan was alright.

"Mr. Sulu," he said as he moved towards the turbolift, "you have the conn. If anything should come up, contact me immediately."

"Aye, Sir," came the standard response.

In Engineering, there was complete chaos. As it had been the center with the most extensive damage, Scotty had had his work cut out for him, and though he assured Kirk that the repairs were well underway, it still made Kirk distinctly uneasy to see any part of his ship in this condition.

As he stepped into the open space, he was nearly run down by an over-zealous Ensign, who was hastening to procure some equipment or other. Seeing who he had run into, the Ensign, whose name Kirk was having trouble remembering, stopped abruptly, his eyes going wide, and stuttered a hasty apology. Kirk waved him off carelessly and attempted to locate Scotty in the crowd of shipmen who were running to and fro as if their lives depended on it.

The Alaerians had assisted them with their repairs for several days. Some of their equipment and materials had been unfamiliar to the Enterprise crew, and Kirk knew that Scotty had been forced to make several adjustments to compensate for the differences. Spock had helped – in fact, his Vulcan First Officer had, during the past days, spent a large part of his time down here, lending a hand with any and all necessary equations and scientific data.

Kirk half-expected to find him down here now, but though his eyes finally located the somewhat hassled form of his Chief Engineer, Spock was nowhere to be seen. Scotty, who was immersed in a vigorous battle with one of the machines, which was smoking slightly – never a good sign – didn't notice Kirk until he stepped up next to him and cleared his throat.

Scotty jumped and turned abruptly, saw Kirk, and heaved an exasperated sigh.

"Don' _do_ that, Sir!" he said forcefully, and Kirk attempted not to grin. "Don' you know you're never supposed to sneak up on an engineer while he's tryin' to stabilize the warp field generator?"

"I had not heard that, Scotty, I am terribly sorry."

The Scotsman persisted another moment in his frustration, then he heaved a sigh and, his hands still busy with the generator, said, "What can I do for you, Captain?"

"Oh, nothing in particular, Scotty," Kirk said, shrugging. "I came to see how you were doing down here. Do you have any new estimates for when we might be on our way?"

Scotty sighed. "Ah, Sir," he started, which was never a good beginning, "I don' know. About midday yesterday, everything seemed to be going fine, and then last night this blasted thing –" he jerked his head at the generator "– decided to get all worked up, and now a whole bunch of circuits have blown and I can't for the life of me figure out why."

Kirk hesitated. "Has … Spock been assisting you this morning?"

Scotty shook his head distractedly, his focus on the generator. "No, Captain," he said, as he pulled out something that looked like a very old stick of licorice, and threw it unceremoniously on the ground with a disgusted expression. "I haven't seen him today."

Kirk frowned. "Very well, Scotty," he said once it became clear that his Chief Engineer had his hands full. "Keep working. And keep me informed on your progress."

"Aye, Sir," Scotty replied into the machine, and Kirk took that as his cue to leave.

He knew where he wanted to direct his footsteps next, but he wasn't sure calling on Spock in his quarters was a good idea. It was still early, and … but what if something was wrong? Kirk stopped in his tracks and frowned, thinking furiously, then, throwing caution to the winds, he stalked off in the opposite direction, towards Spock's quarters.

The door was locked, but Kirk was sure he could hear something from inside. Kirk knew one thing, though, and that was that if Spock had locked his door, he didn't wish to be disturbed.

So, Kirk turned and grabbed a turbolift back up to the Bridge. Spock was supposed to come with him to meet with the Alaerians – he had a strange affinity with them. If he didn't show up … Kirk stopped that thought in its tracks. This was Spock, and Spock didn't just _not_ show up for things.

It was, therefore, with a feeling of temporary reassurance that Kirk stepped onto the Bridge a few minutes later. He turned to Uhura, who was bent over her station.

"Any word from Spock?" Kirk said.

Uhura turned around. "Yes, Captain," she answered. "He called up a little while ago, and said he needed the morning for some personal business."

"What personal business?" Kirk said, with no small amount of curiosity.

Uhura shrugged. "I don't know," she answered. "He didn't volunteer the information, and, seeing as you had just told me that you would have given him the day off had he asked for it, I took the liberty of telling him that he was cleared for some free time."

Kirk frowned, but he couldn't exactly argue with this. "Very well, Lieutenant," he said, moving to his chair and sitting down. For a short moment, he stared out of the view screen, then he turned around in his chair.

"Are you sure Spock didn't say anything about why he –"

"No, Sir," Uhura interrupted him politely.

Kirk knitted his brows pensively.

"But –"

"You are simply going to have to ask him yourself," Uhura said, with a raised eyebrow and expression that seemed just a little too understanding.

Kirk turned, sighing, and then spent a good five minutes staring at Spock's empty station.

Two hours passed uneventfully, the only minor action coming at ten thirty in the form of Chekov becoming so frustrated that he slammed his palms into his console and consequently managed to topple backwards off his chair. Sulu promptly dissolved in a peal of raucous laughter. Kirk was sure he would have found the situation hilarious, had he not still been hung up on … other things.

With ten minutes left until his meeting, and with no sign from Spock, Kirk pressed the comm. button on his arm rest and called Doctor McCoy. If Spock didn't make an appearance on the Bridge soon, Kirk would be forced to leave without him. However, if Spock was so exhausted that he was unable to stick to a schedule, Kirk wasn't going to leave without making sure that the situation was being checked out. His mind glazed smoothly over the fact that he was delegating this something less than welcome task to Bones, but Kirk couldn't help but feel that whatever it was that was bothering Spock, it seemed to intensify whenever Kirk was around. It was better that McCoy tried to talk to him. He was the CMO after all, and maybe the Vulcan's problems were merely physical? Maybe he was sick?

Kirk shook his head, as if to ward off this unpleasant thought. Spock sick. It was a scary idea. He put his head in his hands and let out a quiet sigh. A short moment passed by, and then Kirk felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He didn't know what he had been expecting, but he was aware of an irrational feeling of disappointment when he discovered that the hand belonged to Christopher. The reaction passed quickly, and he gave the Cadet a faint smile as Christopher moved to his side.

"You took your time," Kirk said quietly. Christopher let out a small laugh.

"I ran into Lieutenant Commander Giotto," he said. "He gave me a lesson in ship security. I've been meaning to talk to him for ages, so I thought now was a good opportunity."

Kirk nodded. "Of course."

"You seem distracted," Christopher said unexpectedly. Kirk looked at him with raised eyebrows. He took a moment before sighing again, and saying,

"It's Spock. He's …" Kirk paused for a moment, realizing that this was going to sound very silly. "He's tired," he finished, a little lamely.

Christopher looked confused. "Tired?" he asked. "You're distracted because your Science Officer is tired?"

Kirk grimaced. "It's not exactly like that. Spock is … not usually prone to exhaustion."

Christopher raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I still don't get what the problem is," he said bluntly.

"He's supposed to come with me to the meeting with the Alaerians," Kirk explained.

"Then why don't you just call him? Or isn't he answering?"

Kirk shook his head. "I don't want to disturb him," he said.

Christopher's confusion seemed to intensify, though in his expression there was also a trace of disapproval. "You're the Captain, right?" he said slowly. "Isn't "disturbing" your crew kind of your privilege?"

Kirk looked at him for a quiet moment. "Spock has not … seemed like himself lately. If he needs to rest, then … I'm going to let him. I'm sending McCoy down to check on him, just in case."

Christopher's expression turned again to one of skepticism, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Kirk cut him off.

"I know," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "You think this concession from the Captain is ridiculous. If this were the twentieth century, I would have been stripped of my title immediately. I should demand respect from my crewmen, and anything less than absolute authority from me is unacceptable."

Christopher twitched his eyebrows upwards in an expression that seemed to say that Kirk had pretty much summed it up. Then his features relaxed into a slightly exasperated smile.

"Things are different here, I know," he said.

_Not really_, Kirk thought to himself, and privately decided that he was _not_ going to make a Captain's log for this particular incident.

Kirk and Christopher both turned as they heard the turbolift doors slide open, and McCoy hastened out, as if the thing would cave in on him if he stayed there a moment too long, and strode over to Kirk.

"You needed to see me, Jim?" he said, sounding, as usual, somewhat impatient.

"Yes, Bones," Kirk replied, then turned to Christopher. "If you will excuse us, Cadet."

Christopher nodded curtly and stepped briskly over to Uhura, who immediately engaged him by handing him an earpiece and pointing to something on her console. Kirk turned back to McCoy, who was wearing an expression that indicated that he would very much like to know why he had been summoned in the middle of something vitally important he was undoubtedly doing down in Sickbay. Kirk decided to get straight to the point.

"I need you to go down and see Spock."

Immediately, Bones' expression changed to one of his unique blends of exasperation and understanding.

"Why?" he said directly.

Kirk looked at him. "He's exhausted," he said, a little lamely.

McCoy frowned. "Everyone gets tired now and then, Jim," he reasoned. "Maybe it's just –"

"It's not like him to show it," Kirk corrected himself. "It seems like everyone has noticed, Bones, and you know how much Spock values his discretion."

McCoy clearly couldn't deny this.

"Spock and I are supposed to leave for our meeting –" Kirk checked the time "– right about now. He hasn't shown up, and, although he let us know, earlier, that he would be needing the morning off, he hasn't been in contact since. I don't know what's going on, Bones, but something is wrong."

McCoy looked confused.

"I have to leave," Kirk continued, "and I need you to go to his quarters. Try to find out what's wrong. Do a medical examination if you think it's necessary."

"Wait a minute, Jim," McCoy said irritably, "you want _me_ to –"

"I need you to try to help him, Bones," Kirk cut him off, and McCoy's indignation seemed to increase.

"Now look here," he said, warning in his tone, "you're the one who, for some reason I can't begin to comprehend, actually understands the guy. What do you want me to do?"

Kirk got up, frustrated. "You're the CMO," he said sternly, then his façade fell. The following admission caused him a jolt of pain. "And I don't think I _do_ understand him anymore. He seems uncomfortable around me. I can't explain it."

McCoy looked at him for a long moment with an expression Kirk couldn't quite read, though it seemed to include a hint of condescension. Then the Doctor muttered something indistinct under his breath and promptly strode out of the room. Kirk was left to wonder at this strange reaction.

The remaining five minutes passed, for once, much too quickly for Kirk's liking. The over-hasty seconds didn't seem to be giving Spock enough time. As Kirk got up and put on his jacket, he cast a last look at the turbolift, for a moment fully expecting Spock to come striding out of it with a perfectly logical excuse for his lateness. But no Spock appeared.

The transporter still wasn't working, so Kirk took out the orb he had been given by the Alaerians, placed it in the palm of his hand, and pressed it lightly.

He arrived in one of the antechambers in another part of the castle – this is what they had discovered the structure to be when they had been given a tour on their second day – the same place to which he and Spock had beamed the last three times they had visited Alaeria. It was, they had been told, a more private part of the building, reserved for meetings with friends. Spock had informed him that this was clearly meant to be a great honor. Kirk had not felt it as keenly as the Vulcan had seemed to, but he had nonetheless tried to smile a little more frequently.

Iarna stood waiting for Kirk as he arrived, and the Alaerian instantly led him into the adjoining room, where Siora and Viera, the last of whom, as they had come to understand, was the closest equivalent the Alaerians had to a leader, were waiting for them. As they must be aware that Kirk would be perfectly able to find his way through the door on his own, he assumed the fact that Iarna still needed to wait for him in the hall had something to do with some as-of-yet unfamiliar Alaerian customs.

The room they met in, looked, as opposed to the rest of the castle, so much like a simple sitting room – minus the heavy-set walls and dangling, silvery lights – that the first time Kirk had stepped into it, he had momentarily – and illogically, as Spock had taken care to inform him – thought himself transported to a regular, Earthly lounge. He had been invited to sit down in one of the chairs, which were of a dark grayish-blue color, and which he had found to be surprisingly soft.

He was not so surprised now, but it still puzzled him how out-of-place this room seemed, as if the castle decorator had suddenly gone on vacation and left this room to his half-human grandmother.

As usual, both Siora and Viera stood up when he entered, and, to his continuing embarrassment, insisted on standing until he had sat down. He felt like a woman, which, considering his many open-minded tendencies, he probably shouldn't have minded so much. As it were, it made him uncomfortable, also because he was used to the highest in the chain of command being seated first, and, if one compared Captain James Kirk to the leader of a whole planet, it didn't take much head-scratching to figure out who outranked whom.

However, Kirk had no wish to offend the Alaerians, so, as had become his custom, he instantly stepped over to a chair and sat down, whereupon Siora, Viera and Iarna sat down opposite him.

They had discussed many things in these meetings. The Alaerians had talked about their own culture and society, they had wanted to hear things of Earth, and they had been particularly interested in Vulcan, of which they had not known anything before meeting Spock.

His absence was immediately noticed.

"Spock," Iarna said, with that tiny upwards inflection that seemed to indicate curiosity. "He did not accompany you today."

Kirk shook his head, which felt strangely heavy. "Spock is … otherwise engaged today."

He imagined Spock would approve of this excuse, especially since it wasn't a lie. Well, it wasn't _exactly_ a lie.

Iarna responded with one of his miniscule facial expressions. Kirk honestly couldn't tell one from the other. He worried, now that Spock wasn't with him – for Spock could apparently pick up on the subtle differences – that he would somehow manage to misinterpret some important signal and doom them all. At least there were no women present today. Alien women always seemed to complicate things for Kirk. It was always just a little too tempting to exploit his knowledge of sexual matters – which was actually less extensive than most people assumed – to get what he wanted. Which was mostly information.

Here, however, he was dealing with three men. Well, three Alaerian males, anyway. Which wasn't much better, but he was hoping he could make it through the day without causing any diplomatic disasters.

He stopped his train of thought. He could not second-guess himself like this. He _did not_ second-guess himself like this. He was the Captain of a Federation Starship, and he simply couldn't afford to. Sulkily, he blamed Spock. The Vulcan's strange behavior was putting him off his game.

He focused his attention on the Alaerians. "So," he said, "you wanted to talk about Trinity."

"Yes," Siora said immediately. "It is important that you are familiar with our knowledge of her, so that your search might be as fruitful as possible. You have told us of our Symbol. You call it a _triquetra_."

"Yes," Kirk confirmed.

"It is strange that its use should be so different on your planet," Siora said.

"Or perhaps it is not so strange," Iarna interjected calmly. "Captain Kirk's planet is very far from ours. If Trinity bore it with her, as we believe, she may have taken it to other planets as well. Perhaps its message was not made clear, and this is why it bears different meaning to each of us."

Siora nodded thoughtfully. From his own culture, Kirk was used to statements like these turning into discussions – often heated ones – but Siora seemed to accept Iarna's argument without any further need for questioning or contention. Kirk wished Spock was here to say _fascinating_.

"The triquetra is only one of many symbols your planet looks to," Siora said evenly. Once more, it barely seemed like a question.

"I guess my planet doesn't look to these symbols much anymore," Kirk answered, "but once, the triquetra was one of many, yes."

Iarna frowned slightly as he asked, "Was this not confusing? And what token do you have of your Architect?"

Kirk shook his head. "The human view on these things is very different. There used to be belief in a creating entity we called God, an all-powerful, all-knowing being who gave life to everything. Different religions – I explained this word to you –" the Alaerians made slight nods "– had different ways of worshipping this God, or gods. As the centuries passed, the organized belief died, and now most people don't really have a clearly defined opinion on the issue one way or the other."

The Alaerians were silent. They looked like they found this information interesting. Then again, they could be thinking about food. Or they could be intensely angry. Kirk probably wouldn't know. He, however, found it very intriguing that the Alaerians had somehow managed to hold on to their belief, and, not only had they managed to hold on to it, they actually seemed to agree with each other on all of its particulars. Not to mention that they appeared to use the guidelines this Trinity had given them for the good of their society, as opposed to using it as an excuse for making trouble. The stranger element was that, from what Kirk had gathered, Alaeria was a planet a great deal older than Earth, which meant that the Alaerians had held on to their customs for what, to him, seemed like an unimaginably long time. Kirk decided to voice this last thought aloud.

"Your world is much older than ours," he said, trying to mimic the Alaerians' mode of questioning.

"Yes," Siora replied. "Alaeria's age spans several billions of your years."

This brought Kirk to one of his more pressing wonderments. "And yet you think that whatever created you still lives?"

Siora was quiet for a moment. "We do not believe that she _lives_, by our, or your, definition of the word. But that she _exists_ somewhere, somehow, this is our hope."

Kirk frowned. "We have met beings like this," he said, "beings that have evolved past the corporeal state. But none of them had the power of creation. Illusion, yes, but not the actual ability to give life."

Siora looked at him. "But you consider such things possible."

Once more, Kirk was struck by the Alaerians' very peculiar brand of faith, if one could call it that. As for Siora's question, Kirk wasn't entirely sure how to answer it.

"I don't know," he said honestly, after a small pause. "I have never seen anything like it. But I'm not going to say it couldn't happen."

The three Alaerians looked at him for a moment. Kirk felt vaguely like he was on display. Then Iarna spoke. Kirk found it odd that Viera, the leader, said so little.

"You have noticed our atmosphere, Captain Kirk," Iarna said quietly.

"Yes."

"You have noticed its peculiar coloring."

Kirk nodded.

Iarna continued, "Alaerians are fairly advanced in the ways of science. We have devoted much time and effort in attempting to discover how everything functions, as well as how we can aid and better natural processes without harming them."

Kirk frowned, curious.

"Our atmosphere remains a mystery to us," Iarna said, with a faint trace of something Spock might have been able to identify had he been here.

Kirk, for his part, found this surprising. "You mean to say that you don't know why it looks the way it does?"

"You know as well as we, Captain Kirk, that an atmosphere composed of oxygen and nitrogen does not naturally acquire that particular color," Iarna responded, "yet ours has always been this way. There is no logical explanation for it. We have travelled back and forth, found ways of taking samples, we have attempted to create the color ourselves using all the chemical combinations we could conceive of, yet nothing we do has yielded feasible results."

"So, it doesn't do anything?" Kirk asked incredulously. "The color, that is?"

Iarna made a faint shake of his head. "We have not been able to find that it does."

"So," Kirk continued, "for all intents and purposes, it's just for decoration?"

This seemed to confuse the Alaerians, who blinked slightly, but Kirk was imagining the look of astonishment on Chekov's face when Kirk told him that he had guessed right.

* * *

><p>Back on the Enterprise, McCoy was trudging reluctantly towards Spock's quarters, thinking that Jim would have been hard put to give him a less enjoyable task. Spock had never really been McCoy's forte. The Vulcan was Jim's arena, even though the blasted man couldn't seem to see it. McCoy was convinced that by the time those two got their feelings straight – metaphorically speaking, of course – he would be old, grey and extremely worn out.<p>

However, though Spock wasn't exactly his favorite person, mainly because the Vulcan just didn't make sense to him most of the time, McCoy was worried for him. This new development made him uneasy. It was not like Spock to let himself become so worn out, if indeed that was the issue, and it was definitely not like him to show it. Those few times Spock had shown any kind of actual feeling for something, he had always been extremely conscious of it, and would always try to smooth it over and draw back into himself as quickly as possible. And it wasn't that Spock was being intensely emotional all of a sudden, he was just very clearly exhausted, which was strange and unsettling in and of itself.

Heaving an exasperated sigh, McCoy stopped in front of Spock's quarters. The door was locked, so he raised a hand and made three, curt knocks.

There was no response. He tried again. Still nothing. He listened at the door for a moment, but there was no sound from inside.

With a very uncomfortable sense of invading Spock's privacy, he cleared his throat and spoke the manual override command. The door slid open with a soft _whoosh_.

Bracing himself for all the things that could go wrong in this scenario, McCoy stepped carefully and quietly into Spock's chambers.

His quarters were dark, and McCoy took a moment to adjust his eyes to the gloom. He heard the door swish shut again as he stepped further into what felt like a very bad idea. Approaching the bed, he saw that Spock was lying on it, fully clothed, on top of the sheets, his hands folded over his chest with pointer finger and thumb extended – McCoy recognized it as one of Spock's meditative poses.

Spock did not seem to notice McCoy's presence, so the Doctor, feeling distinctly foolish – something bad was bound to come of snapping a Vulcan out of his meditation – cleared his throat as softly as possible. Predictably, this had no effect. Frowning, McCoy cleared his throat again, louder this time.

Again, nothing.

Finally, he whispered, "Spock."

The Vulcan didn't move, so McCoy repeated his name, louder, taking a very reluctant step towards the bed. There was no way McCoy was going to touch him, or come too near him for that matter. He knew Spock could throw him across the room as easily as McCoy could throw a chair – well, as easily as Jim could throw a chair, at least – so he wanted to avoid startling the Vulcan, if one could startle Vulcans, that is. McCoy imagined it must be difficult, but with his luck, he was sure he, if he wasn't careful, could manage to do something to accomplish it.

So, for the third time, he said, forcefully, standing at a safe distance, "Spock!"

The Vulcan blinked, and slowly moved his eyes to McCoy. His hands fell to his sides, and he pushed himself swiftly to a sitting position, slinging his legs over the side of his bed before standing up. He looked confused.

"Doctor McCoy," he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Jim sent me to check on you," McCoy said immediately, thinking he would make his motive clear right off the bat.

Again, Spock seemed confused, and it struck McCoy that Spock didn't seem to realize what time it was. Spock, the Vulcan, who had an internal clock that was usually more precise than their computers, did not know that he had, for all intents and purposes, overslept. Or, over-meditated, if that was actually possible.

"He left for his meeting half an hour ago," McCoy clarified. "You were supposed to come with him. Remember?"

Spock took a step towards him, frowning. "The meeting," he echoed quietly.

"Yes, the meeting," McCoy said, with a little less than his usual irritability. The sight of the Vulcan looking so utterly confounded was enough to awaken even McCoy's sympathy for him.

"I am …" the Vulcan started, trailing off inconsequentially.

"Late," McCoy finished for him. "Very late. Jim had to leave without you. You know, in all the time I've worked with you, Spock, I've never known you to be late. Not once."

Spock just looked at him with that same, almost dazed expression. McCoy really didn't know what to make of this.

"What's _wrong_, Spock?" he said, with feeling.

The Vulcan finally seemed to snap to and, straightening up, he said, "There is nothing wrong with me, Doctor. I am perfectly fine."

Well, McCoy had suspected all along that this business about Vulcans' never lying was just a load of twaddle.

"You've really made stretching the truth into an art form, haven't you?" McCoy scoffed. "Come on, Spock. I may not be Mr. Logic, but I wasn't born yesterday."

Spock regarded him calmly for a moment. He seemed to have regained some of his usual detachment.

"I never could understand your witticisms, Doctor," he said. "However, I assure you there is no need to concern yourself."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Well I _am_ concerned," he said huffily, "and what's more important, _Jim_ is concerned."

Spock's impassive expression twitched at the sound of the Captain's name. McCoy was not surprised.

"Spock," McCoy said seriously, "I want to take you down to Sickbay for a an examination."

Spock was instantly cold. "That will not be necessary, Doctor."

McCoy was very far from convinced. And, if it came down to stubbornness, he had no doubt that he could hold his own against Spock any day. "Captain's orders," he said, putting some authority behind the words.

Spock arched an eyebrow. "The Captain," Spock echoed again, "ordered you to examine me."

McCoy shrugged. "He ordered me to check up on you," he replied casually, "which in my book amounts to the same thing."

Spock's eyebrow remained aloof. "That is not logical, Doctor," he said monotonously.

McCoy made a face. "It's logical if I say it's logical," he said querulously. "Now, you've been acting funny lately, so unless you want to talk about it –" McCoy really hoped he didn't "– I suggest you let me give you a check-up and have done with it."

Spock closed his eyes for a moment, as if he could will McCoy away by pretending he wasn't there. McCoy waited impatiently. Finally, Spock made the smallest of sighs.

"Very well."

They didn't say a word to each other as they headed down to Sickbay. McCoy had to admit that now that the Vulcan seemed to have snapped out of his reverie, he was looking more like his usual self. He didn't seem as tired, all of a sudden, though it could just be that he had once more receded into himself. McCoy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. _Vulcans_. He was never going to get this whole emotional suppression thing. There was just no way it was psychologically sound.

Sickbay was empty when they arrived. The damages here had been among the least severe on the ship, and the repairs hadn't taken long. Most of the instrumentation was turned off, since no one had been down there much after Uhura had recovered. McCoy, naturally, spent most of his time here, but he had not had a visitor in a while, though that, of course, was a good thing.

He motioned Spock over to one of the biobeds and the Vulcan stepped stiffly into place and allowed McCoy to tip the bed into a lying position. Spock was silent as McCoy proceeded with the medical exam. McCoy mumbled under his breath as he pressed various buttons, and ran his medical tricorders over Spock's long form. This took only a few minutes, and, predictably, the Vulcan was, at least physically, perfectly healthy.

"I attempted to inform you of this," Spock said when McCoy delivered this news.

"Well, at least now I can tell Jim I did my job," McCoy answered exasperatedly. Then, feeling he would probably regret asking the question, he said, "What _is_ wrong, Spock? And don't tell me everything's fine, because, whatever you say, your behavior over the past days has been very unusual. For you, anyway," he added.

Spock looked at him for a moment. "I have not been getting my usual amount of rest," he said finally. McCoy was surprised that the Vulcan had said anything at all.

He wrinkled his nose. "Don't you Vulcans have an internal … whatsit – that lets you shut down when you need to?"

Spock regarded him with an expression that McCoy could only interpret as distinctly condescending. "It is not quite as simple as pushing a button, Doctor," he said slowly. "It requires focus."

"So something's wrong with your focus, then?" McCoy pressed.

"I –" Spock started, hesitated, and continued, "I have not been meditating successfully."

Again, the Vulcan's unusual willingness to speak surprised McCoy; something must really be wrong. "And this affects your concentration?" he asked.

"Yes. As I am half human, meditation is all the more important; it allows me to control my dual nature with some measure of adequacy."

McCoy took a moment to consider this. "So," he said after a pause, "your problem right now is lack of concentration?"

Spock inclined his head. "Simply put, yes," he said.

"Then," McCoy said, confused, "why don't you just meditate, and –"

"It is a great deal more complex than that," Spock interrupted him, with something that seemed dangerously like irritation. "Meditation itself requires a great deal of application. I do not simply close my eyes and go into a trance."

"So you've got yourself a vicious circle," McCoy said. "You can't concentrate, so you can't meditate, which messes with your concentration." He rolled his eyes. "I'm glad I'm not Vulcan."

"And I am very thankful that my understanding of the matter surpasses your own, Doctor," Spock said tersely.

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "Well," he said, "that understanding doesn't seem like it's doing you much good right now, Spock. I suggest you figure out what's bothering you, and then deal with it like a normal human."

"I am not –" Spock started, but McCoy cut him off.

"I don't care what you are, Spock, but it seems like your Vulcan techniques aren't working too well right now. Maybe you need to turn to your other half. You should speak to Jim."

This suggestion seemed to take Spock by surprise, who raised both eyebrows and took a moment to respond.

"Is there a reason for this proposition?" he said finally, and, in that instant he seemed so cold towards the thought of Jim that McCoy wondered, for just a split-second, if he had been misinterpreting Spock and Jim's interactions all this time. Jim certainly hadn't been very subtle. McCoy opened his mouth and closed it again. This was dangerous ground. He looked at Spock, whose eyes were boring into him with a kind of furious intensity that made McCoy more than a little uneasy.

"Jim …" McCoy started, hesitated. "Jim feels you've been acting strangely around him. I think he's worried that he's done something to upset you."

Well, this was skirting around the issue very nicely, but Spock, to McCoy's relief, visibly relaxed. The Vulcan shook his head slowly.

"As I have attempted to convey to you," he said, "I am only a little fatigued. If I have given the Captain cause to believe that there is any other problem, I will be happy to rectify the matter."

McCoy regarded him for a quiet moment, then he shook his head, and sighed. This was no use. If Spock's problem was with Jim, he would not tell McCoy about it. And it was always very problematic to play mediator. McCoy was not quite sure he wanted the job. Actually, he was pretty damn sure he _didn't_ want the job. He certainly didn't feel qualified for it.

"Well, Spock," McCoy said after a small pause, in which the Vulcan had regarded him steadily with a searching expression, "I guess you should report to the Bridge for duty." Spock nodded curtly and made to leave. McCoy placed an unobtrusive hand on his arm. "The Captain will be expecting an explanation," he said quietly.

Spock frowned. "I will, naturally, offer the Captain my sincere apologies for –"

"Just explain what's going on," McCoy interrupted him gently. "It's Jim. He'll understand."

Spock's expression was unreadable as he pulled his arm away.

* * *

><p>Kirk transported back onto the Bridge with a slight sense of foreboding. His eyes immediately sought the Science Station, where Spock was standing bent over his scanner, deeply immersed in his work. Kirk hesitated for a moment, but then he mentally shook himself and, putting on his Captain's boots, strode over to the Vulcan. As he approached Spock, he noticed that several eyes followed him with anticipatory looks, but they hastily turned their focus back to their own tasks as he with a passing glance wordlessly told them to mind their own business.<p>

Spock, who must have heard Kirk coming over, turned and instantly straightened up, placing his hands behind his back. He didn't quite meet Kirk's gaze, but seemed to be focusing his eyes on an area in the vicinity of Kirk's forehead. Kirk, who felt it would be kinder to speak with Spock away from the obviously interested ears of their fellow crew members, said, taking care to keep his voice level,

"If you will come with me please, Mr. Spock."

Spock wordlessly obeyed, and the two of them made their way over to the turbolift. Spock was rigid as a board as it moved downwards. His eyes were fixed stoically on some indefinable spot on the door, and he kept his hands locked tightly behind his back. His mouth was a thin line, and seemed pale with the strain of holding back whatever it was he wouldn't say.

Kirk led them to one of the conference rooms on level four, and as soon as the doors slid shut behind them, he turned to his friend with his hands on his hips. He opened his mouth to speak, but Spock beat him to it.

"Captain," he said, his voice mechanical, "I apologize for my lateness. It was unacceptable, and I submit myself willingly to –"

"Spock," Kirk interrupted him, letting his hands fall to his sides. His friend had a unique way of draining all the authority out of him. "I don't need to hear that. I want to know what happened today."

Spock regarded him with a creased brow. "I …" he said hesitantly, took a breath, "I was exhausted. It appears that I miscalculated the time."

Kirk took a moment. "So you lied to me the other day," he said tentatively.

Spock seemed confused. "I do not –"

"You told me you were fine," Kirk interrupted him, feeling strangely indignant. He didn't like the idea that Spock felt he had to hide something like this from him.

"I overestimated my energies," Spock replied.

Now it was Kirk's turn to frown. He shook his head. "No," he said forcefully. "You are not being sincere with me. _I_ overestimate my energies. _I_ insist that I'm invincible and methodically refuse to acknowledge my limits. _You_ know your own strength as well as I know this ship, and you would no sooner "overestimate" your energies than you would tell a joke. I know you, Spock, so don't try to tell me something we both know isn't true."

During this speech, Spock's expression had shown first surprise, then incredulity, then, unmistakably, anger.

"I know I must have displeased you today," he said calmly, and coldly, "but I do not see that I have merited the mark of liar. If you know me as well as you profess to, you should be aware that, though it has been my study to avoid such weakness, I am perfectly capable of overestimating myself."

Kirk opened his mouth to retort, feeling furious, but a deep, gnawing pain lodged itself in his stomach as the Vulcan's frosty gaze bored into his own. Spock's words were harsh, and, to Kirk's frustration, logical. Maybe he had misjudged his own knowledge of Spock's character. Maybe he had misjudged their friendship. The thought seemed to tie a knot around the preexisting pain in his stomach, causing him to feel slightly nauseated.

He was quiet for a moment, battling furiously with himself, and his own resolve. Then, "You are right, Spock. I'm sorry. I thought …"

He trailed off, not sure what he wanted to say, or what he had truly thought, or why he had ever thought it. The idea of him and Spock was not only irrational, it was ridiculous. It even passed the bounds of the absurd and took a giant leap into the realm of the insane. Maybe it was time to let it go.

Spock appeared to be jarred out of his annoyance by this seemingly unexpected apology. He blinked, and said,

"Jim, I did not mean to –"

"No, it's fine, Spock," Kirk said, breaking the Vulcan off for a third time. He felt hurt. The pain in his stomach wouldn't let up. "I assumed too much. I consider you my friend. It was foolish of me to take for granted that you saw me the same way, that your confidence in me was …"

He broke off. He didn't think he could stay here much longer. Spock looked confused again, and Kirk cursed himself for presupposing that the signs he saw in Spock matched his own idea of emotions, and friendship.

But Spock walked up to him and placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"Jim," he said, "I have been, and shall always be, your friend."

His eyes were fiery, and Kirk wanted to kiss him so badly that it was all he could do to keep his distance. Spock's words warmed him, but they didn't alleviate the pain. For Spock had said it. He would always be Kirk's _friend_.

They both remained still for several, long moments. Spock's hand was sending electricity up and down Kirk's arm, like a stream of boiling water. And he held on for an impossibly long time. The contact was exhilarating. Finally, the Vulcan lowered his hand and took a measured step back. The distance left Kirk feeling cold. After a silence that stretched on for just a little too long, Kirk, reverting once more to a businesslike tone, said,

"We should return to the Bridge."

Spock looked at him for another moment, wearing one of those expressions Kirk could never seem to interpret, then he nodded. They started to move, but then Kirk stopped and turned back to Spock.

"I expect you, from now on, to inform me when you are not feeling well," he said strictly. "I don't care if it's just that you're a little tired. This isn't a slave ship, and everyone needs some time off every once in a while. Even Vulcans."

A corner of Spock's mouth twitched.

It was difficult to pinpoint precisely what happened that day, but _something_ between them changed. Their relationship acquired a stiffness and formality that hadn't been necessary before, and it took Kirk some time to realize that Spock was simply behaving towards him the same way he behaved towards everyone else. And Kirk, who had really thought he had some understanding of the Vulcan's personality and inner workings, was forced to admit that when Spock put up a neutral front, Kirk could no more understand him than he could the Alaerians.

Yet there were moments, still, when there was distance between them, when Spock would meet Kirk's gaze and allow himself one of his subtle smiles, and Kirk would be left to ponder a soft, Vulcan hand on his arm, and the intense desire he had had to kiss it.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So there it was, folks. Next chapter will be up on Friday. Hopefully. I have another final this week (as does my beta), so I might be delayed again. But if so, the delay should not be more than a day.

Ha! Rhyme! I amuse myself.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** I'm going to start this A/N by making the joyous announcement that I managed to get an A on my Victorian Period final! This means I stand a greater chance of being admitted to the Master's programme in English literature, which is, for some reason, intensely popular this year. So I'm going to say, HUZZAH!

I was, in fact, so happy about this, that I celebrated by first spending a considerable amount of time running around my apartment in a crazed fashion, and then by finishing the second draft of Chapter 7, which is already with my beta, and should therefore, barring catastrophic circumstance, be up on Friday.

Yay me! XD

So, as for this chapter: as always, there will be plenty of drama and tension, and there is a definite possibility that you will all want to kill me by the end of it. Just a warning.

I love Judin and all reviewers!

Thus, then, I say to you:

"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more!"

* * *

><p>The repairs to the Enterprise were almost completed. In a matter of hours, they would ship out once more. Spock sat in his quarters, his eyes closed, his hands placed against each other in their customary meditative fashion. He had finally managed to regain some of his concentration, and his meditation had improved accordingly. It pained him to distance himself from Jim, from his friend, but it was the only logical course of action to take. Had Spock continued to allow his emotions free range, he knew it could only hurt them both, and he was not willing to sacrifice everything for an illogical wish that could never and would never be fulfilled, for a feeling that would cause nothing but pain and embarrassment.<p>

He rose. Even now, his face was impassive. Indulging his emotions in private would only make the repression of them more difficult in public. Straightening his uniform automatically, he strode to the door; upon his voice command, it slid open.

The calm and serenity of Spock's chambers seemed almost surreal as he entered the hall, where crewmen and women were hurrying to and fro, some carrying piles of materials for last-minute repairs, some running between departments with PADDs in their hands. An air of expectation and nervous tension filled the space. Spock breathed deeply and walked with determination towards the nearest turbolift, refusing to be affected by the nearly tangible stress.

The Bridge was, not unexpectedly, little better. As Spock entered, along with three harried ensigns, all of whom hurried over to the Captain to acquire his signature on their respective PADDs, he locked his hands protectively behind his back and briskly made his way over to his station, where everything was, thankfully, in order. He had gone over all of his instrumentation the day before, but, just to be absolutely certain everything was functioning to his satisfaction, he proceeded to perform another round of tests.

Over in the center seat, the Captain, who had dispatched the Ensigns, was instructing Lieutenant Uhura to make contact with Starfleet and inform them of the Enterprise's expected departure time.

"And tell them the Alaerians have expressed a desire for further contact with us," he added.

In Kirk and Spock's last meeting with them, the Alaerians had questioned them about the Federation, and they had seemed genuinely interested in its proceedings. Their scientific knowledge would certainly be an asset. The little time Spock had spent with the Alaerians, as well as the time he had spent examining their technology, had added to his personal understanding significantly, and not only with regards to science.

Spock had become acquainted with why the Alaerians seemed so similar to him in their expressions. They did not, as Spock had first conjectured, exercise a mental discipline such as Vulcans did. In fact, they expressed precisely the emotions they felt. The Enterprise had encountered many different alien races much older than Vulcans or Humans, and a substantial number of these races had developed to a more advanced state of being. Like Vulcans, many of them had acquired telepathic abilities, albeit on a much grander scale. They had encountered beings who could move objects with their minds, who could control the environment and people around them. All of these abilities involved an outward movement, an expansion of the brain's area of power, whereas the Alaerian mind appeared to have developed in the opposite direction. Instead of a widened area of control, their minds had become more centrally focused, allowing them a power over their own mental facilities which signified that they had all but excluded violence of emotion. They were still capable of it, but only of their own choosing.

Spock considered the freedom this must entail. He allowed himself a brief glance at his Captain.

Yes, it would be imminently helpful not to feel quite so much.

He and Captain Kirk were to beam down – their own transporters were now fully functional – before they departed, to take their leave of the Alaerians. This final meeting took place an hour before departure. Kirk and Spock transported down, and were met by a large group of Alaerians, all of whom stood with their hands extended, subtle smiles in their eyes.

"We regret having to part from you," Iarna said, approaching them.

Captain Kirk nodded quietly, with a small smile. Spock suspected that his Captain was much too eager to ship out once more to be regretful of anything he left here. Spock, on the other hand, had found these people to be tremendously refreshing. Iarna's company had been particularly stimulating. He and Spock had spoken a great deal of their respective cultures and customs, and Spock had come to feel almost a kind of friendship for the Alaerian.

"The Federation will be in touch with you," the Captain said, addressing himself to Iarna.

"Yes," the Alaerian replied immediately. "We are looking forward to it. Will the Federation send a representative here?"

"You will be contacted via your Communications Center first," the Captain replied.

Iarna nodded slightly. "This is the rewiring you performed yesterday," he suggested.

"Yes," Spock said. "Your communications devices now receive signals on Starfleet and Federation frequencies as well as your own. You will be contacted shortly, and I am sure the Federation will be eager to send an envoy to speak with you as soon as is practicable."

Siora now stepped forwards. "We wish to thank you for your willingness to aid us in our search for the Architect," he said solemnly. "We understand that this task is not a simple one, nor one that may ever find a logical completion, nonetheless, we are grateful."

"We wish you a safe and successful voyage," Viera added warmly.

He stepped up and offered his hand amicably to Captain Kirk, who took it briefly before extending his hands as the Alaerians did, palms turned up. The Alaerians inclined their heads, almost as one. Viera offered his hand to Spock, who shook it calmly. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the Captain send him a quick frown.

"Thank you for your help," Captain Kirk said, when Viera had stepped back.

The Alaerian made a minute shake of his head. "You need not thank us, Captain," he said solemnly. "It was our mistake that necessitated the repairs to your vessel. It was only reasonable that we should help you complete them."

The Captain did not seem capable of contradicting this statement, so he merely shrugged, and attempted a gracious smile. "I suppose there is some truth to that," he said.

It seemed to Spock that this was an understatement of his Captain's true feelings on the subject, but Spock appreciated his restraint. However, the Captain couldn't quite help himself, and, after a small moment of deliberation, said,

"One, small word of advice." The Alaerians gave him similar, attentive expressions. "Next time you want help, try talking before you attack. I think you'll find it more efficient."

The Captain was smiling, but there was an edge to his tone that Spock could not miss, and which he hoped the Alaerians would not notice. The Alaerians, however, who apparently had not yet learned to interpret the Captain's subtle sarcasm, merely appeared to view his words as a sound recommendation.

"We are very obliged to you," Iarna replied earnestly.

It seemed there was little more to say then. The Captain cast a short glance at Spock, who, hands behind his back, met Captain Kirk's eyes briefly before turning his attention back to the Alaerians. There was a kind of tension, stress, which for him had become linked to this place, and which he would not miss when they made their departure. However, there was also a calm and an understanding, contradictory, perhaps, even illogical, but nonetheless there, connected to these intriguing beings.

"We need to get back to the ship," Captain Kirk said quietly, after a small moment of silence.

Iarna inclined his head. "Yes," he said understandingly, then, "Do you depart presently?"

Spock frowned slightly. He found this something of an odd question. It seemed the Captain did as well, for he said, his tone somewhat hesitant,

"We leave in approximately forty-five minutes. Why do you ask?"

Iarna moved his eyes to Spock. "If it is convenient," he said, apparently addressing himself to the Captain, though his gaze did not waver from Spock, "I would like to speak briefly with your First Officer."

The words _in private_ hung, unspoken, in the air. Captain Kirk frowned, and looked from Spock to Iarna with a questioning expression. Spock felt surprised at this direct request.

"I …" the Captain started uncertainly, then he shook his head. "That should be fine." He turned to Spock. "Report back to the Bridge in half an hour."

Spock nodded curtly. "Of course, Captain."

Spock watched Captain Kirk bid a final goodbye to the Alaerians, then he gave Spock one last, inquisitive look before signaling the Enterprise and beaming up.

Iarna came forwards. "Will you come with me?" he said simply, and he beckoned towards a door which Spock knew to lead into the hall beyond. Feeling a distinct sense of curiosity, Spock nodded, and followed.

The hall was empty. Spock found it odd that the castle, which, as he had come to understand, was the center of operations in this part of Alaeria, always seemed deserted. He had questioned Iarna about this phenomenon, but the Alaerian had appeared to find the query puzzling. He had answered, vaguely, that with such a large space, crowds should be easily avoidable. Spock had conjectured that the population of Alaeria must be small compared to its size, though he had but few facts with which to form a sound basis for this supposition. The few crewmembers who had beamed down to Alaeria had never been invited to set foot outside the castle, and though they had attempted to acquire an explanation as to the reason for this, the Alaerians had, once more, seemed confused, and their answers had been accordingly unenlightening.

However, Spock did not feel that this was the appropriate time for interrogation, so he walked quietly by Iarna's side until the Alaerian turned to him and spoke.

"I have appreciated the opportunity of learning about your culture," he said. "Our conversations have intrigued me."

Spock remained cautiously silent. Iarna continued.

"I do not wish to make you uncomfortable," he said, the corners of his lips turning up so minutely that the smile the change produced was barely noticeable. "I know that you do not value expressions of familiarity, just as we no longer properly understand them. However, I wished to say goodbye separately. It is my belief that, given time, we might have been friends."

The weight of unspoken words behind the Alaerian's few, oral expressions struck Spock as powerfully as it always did. However, he felt a slight amendment was in order.

"I do not mean to discourage familiarity where there is friendship and understanding," he said calmly. "I have enjoyed our conversations as well – our cultures are so very different, yet we express ourselves with such a great degree of similarity. It is fascinating."

"Yes," Iarna said quietly.

There was complete silence for several, long moments. Spock was not certain what he was required to say. It was Iarna who finally continued the conversation.

"You struggle," he said unexpectedly, "with what you feel."

Spock raised both eyebrows in surprise. The directness of the query caused his mind to momentarily stumble. Iarna seemed to understand that he had asked an unusual question. He turned his gaze down for a brief moment, then he made a tiny shake of his head, his dark, purple eyes for once aversive.

"I apologize," he said.

Spock shook his head.

"Do not apologize," he said, with measured tone. "However, I am not quite certain what you refer to."

Iarna seemed to deliberate for a moment. "Captain Kirk," he said, and Spock deftly suppressed a jolt of uneasiness. "He is your friend."

Spock did not know how to reply to this. A few weeks ago, he would have responded in the positive. Now he was not certain what he and the Captain were.

"He is my Captain, my superior," Spock answered vaguely.

Iarna's eyes narrowed, and he seemed to frown. "He speaks to you like a friend," he said, with conviction.

The Alaerian's words caused Spock an almost desperate pang of regret. He wanted to share friendship with his Captain, he wanted to rid himself of the feelings that were destroying one of the few things that connected him to his human side, but the desire to succeed did not make the process any less complicated.

He let out a very small sigh. "The situation is … difficult to explain," he said. Iarna fixed him with a searching gaze, and Spock registered a feeling of irritation. "I do not wish to discuss it further," he said curtly.

Iarna immediately inclined his head. "Then we will not," he said simply.

They had stopped walking and stood facing each other. There was a long silence.

"How do Vulcans say goodbye?" Iarna said finally.

Spock, whose hands had been curled into tight fists behind his back, relaxed. Lifting his right hand, he demonstrated the Vulcan salute. Iarna mirrored his movement, raising his left hand as his fingers effortlessly performed the gesture, as if he had done so many times before. He held the hand still, parallel with Spock's.

"Do the hands touch?" he inquired, his eyes on Spock's hand.

"No," Spock replied. "Placing the hands together is a sign of intimacy."

Iarna looked at him. "I understand."

"We proceed to say, _live long and prosper_."

"Live long and prosper," Iarna echoed softly. "This is a nice way of parting. Does the other party repeat the phrase?"

"In some situations, yes," Spock replied. "Another way of responding is by saying, _peace and long life_."

"Peace and long life," Iarna echoed again. "I like this as well. It is always good to part amicably."

Their hands remained raised. Spock looked at Iarna's long, pale digits and felt an intense sense of curiosity, which he forced aside. He felt it was only logical to inquire of Iarna how Alaerians bid farewell, as it was a custom he had not yet become acquainted with. Iarna responded to this by moving his hands forwards, palms turned up, in the same gesture the Alaerians used for signaling friendship, and bid Spock do the same. Iarna took a step forwards.

"May I?" he said quietly, indicating Spock's hands, which were now partially stretched out, like Iarna's.

Spock nodded, and Iarna gently placed his hands on Spock's. The Alaerian's hands were smooth, his skin like silk. He held them there for a few seconds, then he lowered his arms slowly. Spock hastily placed his hands behind his back. It was time to go.

"I should return to the Enterprise," he said evenly.

Iarna inclined his head. "Perhaps we shall meet again some time," he said.

Spock nodded.

"On behalf of Alaeria I wish you good fortune on your voyage. Convey my particular regards to your Captain as well. He is a good man, and we would be happy to see you both again."

"I will communicate your good wishes to Captain Kirk," Spock replied. "I do not suspect we will pass this way in the near future, but if you choose to form an understanding with the Federation, it might not be very long until the next time we meet."

Iarna gave Spock one of his subtle smiles. "Let us hope that our different civilizations can reach an agreement beneficial to both parties. We have much to learn from each other."

"Yes," Spock agreed, then he held up his hand once more. "Live long, and prosper."

"And you," Iarna said softly.

Spock took out his transporter and flicked it open. "Enterprise, this is First Officer Spock. I am ready to beam up."

A few moments of silence ensued, and then Lieutenant Commander Scott's voice piped across the connection.

"Aye, Sir, right away."

Spock lifted his hand in a final goodbye, and then Iarna and Alaeria dissolved before his eyes, the world materializing once more in the form of the well-known transporter room of the USS Enterprise. Mr. Scott came towards him as he stepped off the transporter platform, and Spock raised an assessing eyebrow.

"I take it, Mr. Scott, that your presence here signifies the completion of pre-departure preparations down in Engineering," he said.

Mr. Scott smiled jovially. "Aye, Mr. Spock," he said cheerfully. "For once, we are ahead of schedule."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I am sure the Captain is very pleased," he offered simply.

"Aye, Sir," Mr. Scott responded, "very pleased. The Captain just gave the order to start the engines, and we'll be shippin' out in about twenty minutes."

"You will find," Spock said, "that it is closer to twenty-three minutes and forty-seven seconds."

Mr. Scott blinked, then he shook his head, a smile on his face. "Well, I should know better than to make approximations to you, Mr. Spock," he said.

Spock quietly agreed, though he felt a response was unnecessary. It did not seem, with regard to issues of time, that the Chief Engineer's chief predisposition was for precision. However, Spock knew that as far as the minute details to the Enterprise's build-up were concerned, there were few men in the known universe better equipped for exactitude than Lieutenant Commander Scott.

Taking his leave of him, Spock headed up to the Bridge. The halls were no less busy than they had been that morning, but Spock walked determinedly through the crowd, his hands held stiffly at his sides. He caught a mercifully empty turbolift, and, approximately fifty-two seconds later, he stepped onto the Bridge. He intended to head straight over to his station, but he was stopped halfway by the Captain, who, rising from his chair, said,

"Was your conversation with Iarna satisfactory?"

Spock turned to Captain Kirk and frowned minutely. There was something in his Captain's tone, something he failed to adequately interpret, which made him uncomfortable. He straightened up and placed his hands safely behind his back.

"It served its purpose," he replied, his tone more defensive than he had intended.

Captain Kirk's brow twitched downwards, and he looked as though he would have liked to enquire further, but apparently, he thought the better of it.

"Very well, Spock," he said, sounding slightly fatigued. He turned around and reseated himself in his chair.

Spock was grateful that the Captain had decided to let the topic lie. He was not interested in divulging, and he did not feel this was the optimal time or place for an argument. He sat down and instantly busied himself with his equipment, going over the different parts of the ship with his scanner to check for any as-of-yet undiscovered system failures.

There were none that Spock could find, so he drew up his calculations for the implementation of the Alaerian technology in the warp field generator, making sure that they were satisfactory. This he had naturally also done several times before, but in matters concerning stability in the warp drive, Spock felt that he could not be too cautious. As he had discovered before, his computations were sound; however, it remained to be seen how the mixture of machinery would function under more pressured circumstances, as it was next to impossible to calculate with any degree of precision for occurrences as of yet not experienced.

With five minutes left until departure, Captain Kirk turned to Lieutenant Uhura.

"Lieutenant, give me a ship-wide frequency."

"Aye, Sir," Uhura responded. "Frequency open."

Captain Kirk pressed a button on his console. "This is the Captain speaking," he said authoritatively. "We will soon attempt a cautious take-off. It is important that everyone is alert at his post. Given the alien technology we have had to use for our repairs, we don't know how smoothly this will go. Stand by for departure. Kirk out."

"The test runs have been successful, Captain," Lieutenant Sulu pointed out, unnecessarily, as the Captain was already very well aware of this.

"Yes, Mr. Sulu," Captain Kirk responded patiently, "but test runs are one thing. Actual flight is another thing altogether. You know this better than anyone."

"Of course, Captain," Mr. Sulu said, with a trace of impatience. "I only meant to say that there don't seem to be any problems."

"I think that if there are problems, we'll see them when we try to make warp speed," Ensign Chekov said, sounding slightly apprehensive.

Captain Kirk glanced in Spock's direction. "I have full confidence in Mr. Spock's calculations," he said calmly.

Though the compliment warmed him, Spock, his mask of neutrality firmly in place, hastily put this sign of faith aside, and raised a skeptical eyebrow. "There is no method by which to be certain that my computations will, when exposed to different conditions, remain valid. However, as the situation stands, they are fully functional and correct. I will make it my foremost priority to monitor the situation as it unfolds. Mr. Scott will, naturally, also continue to exert his substantial skill towards the goal of maintaining the current stability."

"So, you mean that right now everything's just dandy, but there could be problems, so you'll keep an eye on it."

Spock had not noticed Doctor McCoy's arrival on the Bridge, but he could not quite repress a feeling of irritation which the sight and sound of him seemed, inevitably, to provoke.

"I believe that is what I said," Spock replied.

The Doctor rolled his eyes and moved to stand next to the Captain's chair.

"So, Jim, we ready?" he said, looking out of the view screen with an anxious expression.

It had struck Spock on more occasions than one, that a man with such an illogical fear of technology might have managed to find a more suitable place of employ than a Starship. However, the workings of Doctor McCoy's mind were not something Spock had any inclination to place under close scrutiny.

"Yes, Bones," the Captain answered, adding, in an undertone that Spock's ears did not fail to perceive, "as ready as we can be."

This did not seem to make Doctor McCoy feel particularly secure. He swallowed once and, with his left hand, gripped the back of the Captain's chair as if this would somehow abate the danger. Spock raised an eyebrow and turned back to his instruments.

The last few minutes passed in anticipatory silence. The crew were all intently focused on their tasks, and when Captain Kirk finally gave Lieutenant Commander Scott the order to ready the engines for impulse speed, everyone was alert and ready.

"Alright, Mr. Sulu," he said quietly, "take her out. Nice and slow."

Lieutenant Sulu took a deep breath. "Aye, Sir," he said.

"One-quarter impulse power."

The helmsman ran his fingers across his console and the Enterprise began to move slowly backwards out of the docking station. On the view screen they could see silvery rafters disappearing on either side, and the vast darkness of space stretching out behind them. Once the Enterprise had cleared the Alaerian space dock, Captain Kirk ordered a switch to forward motion, and, maintaining one-quarter impulse power, the ship slid slowly forwards.

"Ok, Mr. Sulu," the Captain said after a few moments. "Slowly take her up to impulse power."

Captain Kirk was being cautious. Spock understood that he did not wish to repeat any part of the incident that had led to the ship's damage. His jaw was set, his eyes alive and focused as the Enterprise, under Sulu's direction, sped up. At his side, Doctor McCoy, whose grip on the Captain's chair had caused his knuckles to whiten, was mumbling under his breath and looking very much like he would have preferred to be anywhere else.

Mr. Sulu, following the Captain's directions, took several minutes to bring the ship up to the ordered speed, but finally said, sounding cautiously optimistic, "We have impulse power, Captain."

Captain Kirk nodded. "Departure angle," he said, and the view screen altered its image to show a slowly shrinking Alaeria.

Spock regarded it with a surprising sense of impartiality. The rest of the crew observed it quietly for a few moments before the Captain ordered the switch to forward angle.

"Readings, Mr. Spock," he ordered subsequently.

"Normal, Captain," Spock answered immediately. "As of this moment, everything appears to be in order."

The Captain nodded again, cast a calculating glance out of the view screen, and ordered Mr. Sulu to bring the Enterprise up to warp factor point five. The helmsman complied, making the adjustment with great care. Captain Kirk turned in his seat, and seemed slightly surprised to see Doctor McCoy looking so pale-faced. Then he shook his head, an amused smile on his face.

"How's it going, Bones?" he said humorously.

Doctor McCoy turned his head with a sour expression. "I'm just fine, Jim," he said, and Spock assumed he was employing his trademark sarcasm, for his appearance, far from indicating that he was _fine_, seemed to state that he was in need of one of his own sedatives.

Captain Kirk appeared to be thinking along the same lines, for he patted the Doctor's hand gently, and in soothing tones, said, "I am sure we'll be ok."

Doctor McCoy flashed him an expression of the utmost disgust. "Dammit Jim, I'm not a _child_," he growled.

The Captain shrugged, still looking amused. "Forgive me, Bones," he said. "It looked like you were in need of some reassurance."

The Doctor released his hold of the Captain's chair to fling both arms out in exasperation. "_Reassurance_?" he echoed disbelievingly. "What I need is a parachute, because if this damned Alaerian-human hybrid manages to make it to warp without blowing up, it'll be an interstellar miracle."

The illogicality of this remark was such that Spock was on the verge of pointing out that if the Enterprise _did_ blow up a parachute would hardly be of any assistance, but, to save himself the unnecessary irritation, he settled for a quietly raised eyebrow. For a moment Captain Kirk met his gaze, and he gave Spock a crooked smile, as if he knew what he was thinking. Spock turned his eyes back to his station, a vague, sinking feeling in his stomach.

In regulation with the Captain's new plan of being careful, the Enterprise travelled at sub-warp speeds for quite some time while Spock and Mr. Scott monitored the ship's condition and responses.

"Scotty, how are we doing down there?" the Captain inquired as he ordered the speed raised to warp point nine.

"The warp core is burnin' a wee bit brighter than usual, Captain," came the Chief Engineer's response.

Captain Kirk turned towards the Science Station. "Spock," he said simply.

"The additional energy output is a calculated consequence of the Alaerian technology," Spock explained. "The warp core will acquire an additional degree of luminescence, however, it only indicates a higher degree of energy efficiency."

Captain Kirk turned back to his comm. unit. "Anything else abnormal down there?"

"No, Sir," Mr. Scott answered.

"Right," the Captain said, and, appearing to steel himself, continued, "Take her up to warp one, Mr. Sulu."

There was an air of tangible tension as the helmsman urged the Enterprise up to warp speed. Mr. Chekov appeared to be holding his breath, for he was turning rather blue in the face. Lieutenant Uhura was wearing a slightly vacant expression as she stared out of the view screen. Beads of sweat were running down Lieutenant Sulu's forehead.

Then the Enterprise shot forwards. Another moment of silence ensued, in which Spock knew that every member of the crew was waiting for something to go wrong. Spock held his focus, unwaveringly, on his scanner. A full minute passed by in this manner.

Then Ensign Chekov heaved a relieved sigh. Spock looked up from his scanner.

"Readings are normal, Captain," he said. The tension seemed to dissipate.

Captain Kirk turned to Doctor McCoy, who was taking deep, slow breaths and looking like it would benefit him to sit down.

"Doctor, you are looking slightly green," the Captain said, with a half-smile.

Doctor McCoy turned to the Captain with an angry glare. "Don't insult me, Captain," he said irritably.

Spock raised an eyebrow, but refrained from commenting. Captain Kirk was regarding him as if he expected Spock to say something, but Spock, however much he desired to speak, elected not to humor him.

Had he chosen to speak, he might have observed that the Doctor simply did not have the adequate appreciation of Vulcan physical aesthetics. As it were, he contented himself with the thought.

The Captain kept his eyes on him for a few moments, but then he pressed his comm. button and signaled Mr. Scott once more.

"Scotty, are we ready to attempt warp two?" he said.

"Aye, Sir," the Chief Engineer said, sounding confident. "Everything's runnin' smoothly down here so far. I say we give it a go."

Captain Kirk nodded to himself. "Good," he said. "Mr. Sulu. Warp factor two."

They continued in this manner, carefully increasing the speed until the Enterprise was running smoothly at warp factor five. Spock was reluctantly impressed at how patiently the Captain had persisted in his decision to be cautious. For, though Spock greatly admired many of Captain Kirk's abilities, the man did have a propensity for impulsiveness, which, though it had helped the Enterprise out of some situations, had been the cause of more than one problem.

Spock spent the remainder of the day as he had promised: monitoring the Enterprise's progress and making sure everything was running smoothly. Fortunately, there were no serious setbacks; the only problem came in the form of a slight malfunction in the plasma intercooler, but the failure in question was locked down and repaired before the warp drive could begin to overheat.

At the termination of the day, Spock therefore found himself in the turbolift alongside Captain Kirk, who had left the Enterprise in the care of Lieutenant Sulu to get a few hours of sleep. Spock felt distinctly uncomfortable. Over the past week he had taken great care not to be alone with the Captain. He felt any interaction between him and Captain Kirk, however platonic, could only be detrimental to Spock's goal of ridding himself of his illogical emotional attachment to him.

During the first moments neither of them spoke. Spock felt the Captain's eyes on his face, but he determinedly kept his own visage turned forwards, his hands clasped protectively behind his back. Finally, however, Captain Kirk, apparently deciding that silence would not be adequate, said, his tone aloof and professional,

"I commend you for your excellent work today, Mr. Spock."

Spock turned then and made a slight nod. "Thank you, Captain," he said evenly.

"You seem better rested lately," the Captain continued. "Did you resolve your sleeping difficulties?"

Spock did not feel surprised that Doctor McCoy had related this detail to the Captain, though it did cause him a twinge of irritation. Turning his head forwards again, he nodded curtly.

"Yes, Captain."

Captain Kirk let out a sigh. "You're going to insist on treating me like a stranger, then?" he said unexpectedly.

Spock raised an eyebrow, while his stomach clenched unpleasantly. "I do not comprehend your meaning," he lied.

Captain Kirk placed his hands on his hips, his face set in an expression of calm disbelief. "A week ago, you said you were my friend," he said quietly, "yet now you talk to me like you would to any superior."

Spock frowned. "You _are_ my superior," he stated expressionlessly.

"I know that, Spock," the Captain replied, with a trace of impatience, but he did not pursue his questioning further, for which Spock was intensely grateful.

They both exited the turbolift and went their separate ways. Spock walked determinedly to his quarters, where he locked the doors and prepared himself for meditation. He was thankful for this extra time. The occurrences of the day had left him with feelings of confusion and frustration, and he needed to re-focus his mind.

Walking slowly around the room, he lit some candles, then he turned the lights down, allowing the room to acquire a dark serenity suitable for his meditation process.

He sat down in a chair which stood in a corner at the far side of the room. He felt secluded there, as if he were quite alone. Folding his hands as he always did, he bowed his head and receded into the depths of his mind.

The sounds of the ship faded away, and he was enveloped by warm, dark calm. A single thread of light burrowed through the darkness, focused, moving steadily forwards, illuminating. Spock willed it onwards, allowing it to elucidate those elements that provided motivation, logic, detachment, while urging it to darken those areas that eliminated control and strengthened his emotions. A maze of colors and shapes were constantly coming together and breaking apart. The beam of light dissipated, to be replaced, once more, by darkness, darkness laced with images and memories.

"_I have made my decision, Father. It is my wish to join Starfleet."_

_Sarek looked at him with cold, disapproving eyes. "The Vulcan Science Academy is the logical choice," he said, speaking with a determination that seemed little inclined to brook argument._

_But Spock had never desired to stay forever on Vulcan, to live and learn among a single group of people. Vulcan was his home, but part of his heritage lay elsewhere. Not exploring said heritage was illogical._

"_It is a great honor to be accepted," Sarek continued. "It is not an honor one readily declines."_

_Spock straightened automatically and placed his hands behind his back. "I am sorry, Father," he said evenly, "but I have no intention of accepting their offer. It is my wish to enter Starfleet and complete my scientific education in their employ. I have already submitted my application, and it has been accepted."_

_Sarek's eyes darkened as his entire countenance stiffened. "You have acted deliberately against my wishes," he said coldly._

_Spock breathed. "My course of action is my own, Father," he replied. "I have not acted as I have out of disrespect, but due to my desire of examining other sides of my knowledge. I have spent my life here. It is time for me to experience something different."_

_There was a long moment of silence. The eyes of father and son bored into each other with equal amounts of inflexibility, until the older man, his mouth set, looked pointedly away._

"_You go against your father's will and your family's traditions," he said, his eyes on a point somewhere in the vicinity of Spock's left shoulder, "and there will be consequences for your lack of deference."_

_He turned and walked away._

…

"_And what is your name?"_

"_Spock, Sir."_

_The human appeared to assess him for a moment, before he nodded, and said, "I am Captain Christopher Pike. Welcome aboard the USS Enterprise."_

_Spock nodded as well. "Thank you, Captain," he said formally. He was pleased to note that the Captain apparently had sufficient knowledge of Vulcan culture to refrain from the standard handshake._

_Captain Pike motioned towards the Science Station, and the two of them moved over at a casual pace._

"_You come very highly recommended," Captain Pike said, with a small smile._

_Spock raised an eyebrow. "I was not aware," he stated truthfully. His foremost objective was always to perform his duties with excellence, but he considered this a perfectly logical attitude, and thus he did not quite understand why anyone would commend him particularly for it._

"_You are modest," the Captain said, as they arrived at Spock's new station._

_Spock turned to him with hands behind his back. "I am aware of my skill, Captain," he said, "but it has been my experience that Starfleet requires of its employees a certain level of competence."_

_Captain Pike nodded. "True," he said. "Competency is important. However, you have proven yourself to be something more than competent. Not to mention that your work ethic puts the rest of Starfleet to shame. It is why I specifically requested you for this position."_

_Spock raised both eyebrows this time. This was another detail of which he had not been informed._

"_You are surprised," the Captain said. "Well, you shouldn't be. And I sincerely hope that you will find your new position as Science Officer interesting."_

_The Captain gave him a final nod and walked away, leaving Spock to contemplate his words with a keen fascination. Captain Pike had a way of speaking, a short and concise method of expressing himself, which set him apart from many of his species. During the course of the past four years Spock had encountered many humans, though he had never acquired a desire to become acquainted with any of them quite so quickly._

…

"_His name is James T. Kirk. Many of you will have heard his name before. His rapid rise in rank is solely due to his own skill and excellent service. I hope you will welcome him as your Captain."_

_Fleet Captain Pike extended a hand towards the young man at his side, a man of medium height and build, light hair and piercing, hazel eyes. He looked distinctly uncomfortable at being so praised, and hastily waved the compliments off with a shake of his hand._

"_You make me sound like a prodigy," he said laughingly, turning his eyes from Christopher to the crew. "I assure you I'm not." His tone grew more serious. "But I am very honored to be granted this position, and I hope you will find me worthy of the promotion. I look forward to working with you all."_

_He turned his eyes on each of them in turn, and met Spock's gaze last. A warmth unlike anything Spock had felt before ran down his arms into the tips of his fingers, and he could feel his eyes brighten inexplicably. Catching himself, he hastily locked his hands behind his back and made a curt nod. Captain James T. Kirk kept his eyes on him for a moment, his expression indefinable, though his eyes were full of unexplored friendship_

…

Spock opened his eyes slowly. Taking a few moments to bring himself out of his meditative state, he rose and moved towards the door. He was not entirely certain of what he planned to do, but he knew that he had to speak to Jim, had to explain, somehow.

He moved swiftly down the corridors until he stood before Jim's door. It was late. He assumed the door would be locked, so he moved forwards to knock carefully, but as he raised his hand, the door slid open. There were sounds from within. Spock hesitated, then he took a small step forwards.

It was as if something broke within him. His heart clenched into a tight knot, and he grabbed the doorframe for support as the scene before his eyes turned black.

By the foot end of the bed, Jim stood with arms wrapped around Cadet Christopher, bare torsos aligned as they embraced passionately. Spock felt his breath catch in his throat as first shock, then a violent and unprecedented surge of hatred flowed through him. The urge to step between them and force them apart was for a moment so overpowering, that Spock had taken another step into the room before he realized what he was doing.

Horrified, he turned in his tracks and walked briskly through the doors, which slid shut behind him. He heard a voice from inside, then a set of footsteps, but Spock hurried on, turning a corner as he from a distance heard the doors open once more. He all but dove into the nearest turbolift and, grasping the lever with something akin to desperation, realized that he had no idea where he was planning on going. His breathing was fast and shallow, his heart pounding furiously and painfully. He needed to get to his quarters, but they were on this level. His veins throbbed with the illogical dread of encountering the Captain here, now. He could not. So, grasping for some solution, his mind, inexplicably, settled on Deck Five.

The turbolift whirred to his chosen destination, and Spock leaned against the wall, willing his breathing to return to normal.

When the doors slid open, he stepped shakily out and walked along the corridor with no particular idea of where he was going. His mind was in pieces. He had no direction. He felt utterly and completely lost. He walked up and down the corridor for an indeterminable amount of time until, turning a corner, he almost walked straight into Doctor McCoy.

"Dammit, Spock!" he said irritably, then his expression changed to one of questioning. "What in the hell's the matter with you?"

Spock, utilizing every last morsel of his self control, straightened his back and, attempting a neutral appearance, said, "I am perfectly alright, Doctor."

Doctor McCoy raised an eyebrow, and for once, Spock had no trouble interpreting his utterly unimpressed expression.

"Yeah, you're just fine," he said sarcastically. "You almost knocked me over just now. You weren't watching where you were going. When does that ever happen?"

Spock took a deep breath. "I must request that you keep your impertinent and unwarranted queries to yourself," he said coldly.

Doctor McCoy crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh yeah?" he said. "Well, I think you might need to let out some of whatever it is you're keeping inside, Spock, because it looks to me like you're about to lose it."

A wave of anger coursed through Spock, uncontrolled and red-hot. He took a sudden step towards the Doctor.

"In the highly illogical event that I shall _ever_ desire your advice, Doctor, I will ask for it," he spat.

Doctor McCoy's eyes widened, and Spock turned and walked back the way he came. He took a turbolift back down, and, keeping his focus forwards, hurried to his quarters, where he instantly locked the doors, as if this could bar from his mind what he now, irreversibly, knew.

He sat down upon the bed and attempted to breathe slowly. He felt something wet on his cheek and instantly and aggressively brushed it away. He grasped the covers with white-knuckled fists, his emotional upheaval almost blinding in its intensity.

He attempted to reason with himself, attempted to clear his mind, to shut himself off, to meditate, but he knew no amount of logic or meditation would ever be able to repress the image of Jim in another man's arms.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hate me yet?

You will, you will.

I hope you appreciated the little flashbacks - I very much enjoy writing these little snippets from the past, and I can reveal that Chapter 7 will be opening with one.

Oh, by the way, I realized that I should probably let you know that I am aware that Chekov didn't appear on screen before season two, but, as "The Wrath of Khan" establishes that Chekov was, in fact, onboard the Enterprise before he made his first appearance on TV, and we don't know exactly when he signed up, I'm using the uncertainty to my advantage, because I love him.

As for reviews, I still love them! fanfiction . net's review-response system is kind of ... annoying, so I don't respond to reviews that just tell me that you like the story (although I greatly enjoy these reviews, and I'm very, very grateful for them!). But if you have questions, or specific comments and/or criticism regarding the text, I am always happy to respond. Just make sure you sign your review. ;)

Also, don't be afraid to let me know if there are any irritating oversights or errors. Some mistakes in ranking have been corrected for the first couple of chapters, and there shouldn't be any in the newer ones, but if you find them, don't be shy; let me know!

So I'll see you all on Friday then! Toodles!


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I feel like this is getting kind of repetitive, but sorry for the delay. Only a few hours this time, though. I went to see the Foo Fighters live yesterday, and I was so exhausted when I got home that they idea of attempting to do anything other than pass out was pretty much out of the question.

But Chapter 7 is all ready for you guys. As mentioned in my previous chapter, it starts with a flashback (which was a lot of fun to write).

Judin is awesome!

Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p>"<em>His name is James T. Kirk. Many of you will have heard his name before. His rapid rise in rank is solely due to his own skill and excellent service. I hope you will welcome him as your Captain."<em>

_Pike extended a hand towards him, and Kirk, feeling distinctly hot around the collar and trying very hard not to look too uncomfortable, let out a small, slightly nervous laugh. Attempting a careless wave of his hand, which, to his consternation, looked more like a fish flopping on land, he said,_

"_You make me sound like a prodigy." He tried to sound breezy and careless as he turned to the crew and continued, "I assure you I'm not."_

_He was making a fool of himself. His nerves were probably projecting through his inadequate armor, and he had no doubt his honest modesty was coming across as arrogance. _Great, Kirk_, he thought, annoyed, _continue this way, and you're going to be established as a self-important ass.

_Clearing his throat, he took on a more serious tone. "But I am very honored to be granted this position, and I hope you will find me worthy of the promotion. I look forward to working with you all."_

_He took the time to look around at all his crewmen, hoping to convey some measure of sincerity to them. He looked first at his First Officer, a man he knew well, who grinned playfully and gave him a small wink. Kirk smiled. Gary Mitchell had a way of making even the most serious of situations seem trivial. Kirk met the eyes of all his crewmen in turn, and his gaze fell last on a tall personage with dark, short-cropped hair and the blue uniform that characterizes the science department. Kirk immediately recognized this Vulcan, for, though they had never met, Kirk had heard plenty about him. Spock. Science Officer._

_The prospect of meeting the Vulcan had made him distinctly jittery, mainly because Kirk's experiences with Vulcans so far had not been great. And it wasn't that he had anything against them, it was just that they were so serious and methodical, whereas Kirk was, well, neither of those things._

_But when Kirk looked at Spock he didn't meet the usual detached exterior he had become accustomed to seeing in others of his species, but rather a warmth and friendliness which, instead of presenting themselves through a typical, human facial expression, seemed to emanate from his eyes._

_Kirk was momentarily stunned. He could not remember, later, what had struck him so forcefully about the Vulcan, but he knew, instantly, that this was a person he needed to know. He felt a smile spread across his face._

_Spock, due to some inexplicable internal process of his own, instantly seemed to shut down, as if he had been caught doing something inappropriate. His expression sobered, and he gave Kirk a small nod. But Kirk held his gaze for another moment, the smile lingering on his face as he contemplated Spock's._

_He spent the day getting to know his Bridge crew as well as possible. They didn't ship out until next week, and he wanted to achieve a sense of familiarity with the people he would be working so closely with for so long. This would be his home for the next five years, and these people, his family. His own family having been all but lost to him very early, the possibility of being close to his crew was very important to him._

_As it turned out there were many interesting characters aboard the Enterprise. Kirk was already familiar with Gary, who was a man with many talents and a propensity for saying whatever he liked whenever he liked. Kirk could respect that, despite the many arguments the two of them had gotten into because of it. There was Doctor Mark Piper, who only had months to go before his retirement, but who had insisted on staying on through this change of leadership. He came up to meet Kirk and shook his hand with an older man's fervor, smiling warmly and letting Kirk know that he was expected to report to Sickbay for an examination before departure._

_One of the most enjoyable encounters was with the Chief Engineer, a Scotsman who was called Montgomery Scott. He came up to the Bridge and immediately, with a pronounced and cheerful accent, invited Kirk to take a tour of Engineering, which, according to Scott, was the ship's "gem"._

"_And call me Scotty," he said, shaking Kirk's hand vigorously._

_Kirk, deliberately this time, saved Spock for last. As he walked over to the Vulcan's station, where Spock sat bent over his scanner, deeply concentrated, Kirk, for some unfathomable reason, felt his heart speed up. As he approached, Spock raised his head, and then stood up with a litheness typical to Vulcans, which caught Kirk's eye particularly. He tried not to smile too much as he said,_

"_You are Mr. Spock, correct?"_

_Spock raised an eyebrow in an expression that might have been subtle surprise. "Yes," he confirmed calmly._

_His voice was soft, and low. Kirk was slightly mesmerized by it, and took a moment to continue, simultaneously losing control of the smile he was trying to keep in check. He knew Vulcans found strong expressions of emotion insulting, so he was starting to feel distinctly embarrassed when Spock once more allowed his face that faint look of friendliness._

_Then, to Kirk's utter surprise, Spock stretched out his hand. Kirk merely looked at it for a moment. The Vulcan's hand was long-fingered and pale, but sturdy, though not like Kirk's hands were; Spock's were thinner and more graceful, but they gave the impression of great strength._

_Mentally shaking himself, Kirk hastily grasped the Vulcan's hand in his own, and felt a faint tingling sensation in the region of his stomach._

"_Forgive me," he said, feeling an explanation for his strange behavior was necessary, "I was under the impression that Vulcans didn't shake hands."_

_A corner of Spock's mouth twitched slightly. "Normally, we do not," he said. "However, it is not every day that I have the good fortune of meeting a prodigy."_

_Once more, Kirk, surprised by the Vulcan's humor, experienced a moment of quiet puzzlement. Then, as his brain caught up with things, he let out a short laugh, and, grinning, said,_

"_I didn't know Vulcans made jokes either."_

_Spock raised both eyebrows this time. "I was simply making an observation, Captain," he said evenly, but his eyes twinkled._

_Kirk grinned. "Feel free to call me Jim," he said warmly._

_Spock merely looked at him, and it was at that point Jim noticed that their hands were still clasped, the shake having become a kind of quiet hand-holding that suddenly made Kirk intensely uncomfortable. Letting out a breezy laugh which sounded a lot less nonchalant than it was supposed to, he retracted his hand and tried not to look too shifty._

_Spock placed both hands behind his back. It was very difficult to read his expression. Kirk hoped he hadn't offended him. But when Spock spoke, his voice still held that friendly tone._

"_I hope you will find your new commission to your liking," he said conversationally._

"_Oh, I'm sure I will," Kirk replied instantly. "I've dreamt of captaining a starship for a long time. Sailing through the universe, discovering new worlds, meeting new people … and the Enterprise – she's a magnificent ship. I've been very lucky."_

_Spock frowned slightly. "It seems highly unlikely that you should owe any part of your success to luck," he said. "I am told you are a very capable officer."_

_If Kirk had been the type to blush, he might have gone very red at this point. As it were, he only shrugged slightly, and said,_

"_I am capable, yes. And I suppose you're right. I have worked hard. But there is always an element of chance involved."_

_Spock raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Such has not been my experience," he stated plainly. "I do not believe in chance."_

"_You believe in logic," Kirk said. "Cause and effect – that sort of thing."_

_Spock nodded. "Yes. Essentially."_

_Kirk smiled. "Then I'm sure you are an excellent Science Officer."_

_Kirk's usual follow-up comment might have been something along the lines of _why don't we continue this discussion in my quarters? _However, he felt his new role as Captain required a little more restraint on his part, besides which he very much doubted that the Vulcan would respond well to such blatant insinuation. Still, Kirk was itching to get to know him. He just needed to find an appropriate excuse. Then it hit him. Spock liked logic. He would probably appreciate activities based in logic._

"_Do you play chess?" Kirk asked hopefully._

_To his delight, it looked like the question pleased Spock. The Vulcan nodded. "Yes," he responded, a trace of enthusiasm in his voice._

"_Then we should play sometime," Kirk suggested, privately congratulating himself on his good idea._

"_That would be agreeable," Spock answered, with a tiny smile._

_For all intents and purposes, it looked like Kirk had made a friend._

* * *

><p>Two weeks after they left Alaeria, the Enterprise was still running smoothly. They would reach one of the outer starbases in a few days' time, where they would resupply on everything from food to spare parts. In the meantime, First Officer Spock and Chief Engineer Scotty had made sure the Enterprise was in proper working condition. Kirk was intensely grateful to them both.<p>

Though he wished Spock would talk to him.

Two weeks, and the Vulcan hadn't exchanged single word with him that had not been official and strictly necessary. And the truth was that Kirk was so tired of this back-and-forth behavior of his, he had decided that unless Spock felt like telling Kirk what he had done to offend him this time, he wasn't going to bother attempting to figure it out. It hurt him, but if he wanted to keep his sanity intact, it was the only way.

On a more positive note, Christopher was doing very well. A few days ago, Kirk and Scotty had run him through a series of tests, most of which he had passed with flying colors. If the Cadet continued in this way, he might be eligible for the step up to Ensign even sooner than Kirk had hoped. In addition to this, Kirk had started giving him some basic combat training, which was enjoyable in more ways than one. And it wasn't that his and Christopher's private life really needed any extra spice, but as far as Kirk was concerned, the more interesting, the better. Well, with certain restrictions.

This morning Kirk had stopped by Sickbay for his monthly checkup, and Bones was satisfied to tell him that he was as healthy as the metaphorical horse.

"It wouldn't have surprised me if you'd caught some weird alien bug on Alaeria," he added in a slightly surly tone, as if Kirk's good health was irritating to him.

Kirk slid off the biobed. "You seem displeased with something," he said. "I'd have thought my good health would make you happy. You're always complaining when I'm sick."

McCoy shrugged. Kirk was not satisfied.

"Don't you get all evasive on me too," he said, wagging a warning finger. "I have enough with one crewmember I can't figure out."

McCoy raised an affronted eyebrow. "If you persist in comparing me to the Vulcan, you leave me no choice but to jab you with my hypospray, sick or not."

"Why, Bones," Kirk said, with mock-disbelief. "Attacking a superior officer. This is a serious offence you're planning."

"Oh, shut up and put your damned shirt on," McCoy growled back, flinging said garment into Kirk's arms.

Kirk obligingly pulled the uniform over his head, and, as soon as he had smoothed it down, he placed his hands on his hips and fixed his gaze on Bones with his I-want-an-explanation-now expression.

"Alright, alright," McCoy conceded exasperatedly. "I didn't want to say anything, because I know the moment I do, I'll jinx it. And I really shouldn't be complaining, but –" he lowered his voice dramatically, as if whatever it was he didn't want to jinx would hear him if he spoke in anything louder than a whisper "– there's nothing to do."

Following these words, McCoy looked apprehensively around him, as if expecting some unseen alarm to go off and alert immediate danger, but it would appear that they were safe for now. Kirk tried not to smile. Apparently he failed.

"Laugh all you want," McCoy said sourly, "but you know that every single time any one of us says that things are slow, something comes along and tries to kill us all, or we get transported into the past, or we're turned into giant marshmallows."

The last of these things had, of course, not happened, but as the event itself didn't seem to be Bones' material point, Kirk felt it would be best to let it lie.

"I see your point," he said instead, and he really did. The universe did have an annoying knack for always attacking them when they least expected it. The clue to solving this problem would of course be to always expect disaster, but this tactic never seemed to work out. There would always be some, small space of time, however miniscule, when they didn't anticipate danger, and that was almost always when catastrophe chose to rear its ugly head.

"Why don't you get started on the quarter-annual crew checkups?" Kirk suggested, but McCoy shook his head.

"That's not for another week," he said.

"Well, you could start early," Kirk pressed.

"I could," McCoy agreed, "but then I'd have to make an entirely new set of lists and schedules, and it might be _slow_ –" he whispered the word "– around here right now, but I don't have _that_ much time to kill."

Kirk shrugged. "Well, if you insist on being so methodical, there's little I can do to help you," he said, with a half-grin.

"It's like I said," McCoy responded, his face relaxing, "I shouldn't complain."

Kirk motioned towards the door. "Let Nurse Chapel take care of Sickbay for a little bit and come with me to the Bridge."

McCoy considered for a moment.

"I could use you up there," Kirk added thoughtfully.

McCoy turned an inquisitive eye on him, then he sighed. "Don't tell me," he said. "It has pointy ears and answers to the name of Spock."

Kirk nodded in affirmation. "One of these days, I'm going to lose my mind, Bones," he said tiredly.

McCoy flashed him a reassuring grin and gave him a slap on the shoulder. "Well, when you do, Jim, I'll make sure I'm there to strap you down."

Despite the fact that this idea seemed to make Bones inordinately cheerful, Kirk found his reassurance oddly comforting.

Leaving Sickbay in the care of Nurse Chapel, he and McCoy headed up to the Bridge, where Spock, per Kirk's orders, was sitting in the Captain's chair. The moment the turbolift doors slid open, Spock, sending a brief and utterly detached glance backwards, vacated the chair and moved over to his own station without saying so much as a single word. Kirk regarded his retreating back for a moment, then he sat down in the chair and directed his focus out of the view screen, which pretty much showed him a whole lot of nothing. So, instead, he had all stations update him on recent details, which took all of two minutes seeing as they were about exactly the same as two hours ago.

McCoy was right. They really had been having a slow couple of days. But after the Alaeria incident, this didn't really seem like a bad thing. Kirk still had plenty of reports to fill out regarding that encounter, and if nothing dramatic happened during the course of the day, he would make it an early night and try to finish the remaining accounts. The prospect didn't exactly thrill him, as filling out forms was probably the least favorite part of his job, but it had to be done.

One of the Yeomen walked over with a PADD, and Kirk took it unenthusiastically. He cast a glance at the contents. It was a standard systems report. He skimmed through it and signed his name before handing it back to the Yeoman, who took it with a small smile and strode out of the Bridge. Kirk followed her progress with a little less than his usual interest, though he had to admit she was cute.

Yeoman Waltham. She had joined the crew after the time-warp incident, and had proven to be very capable. Her long, dark brown hair was arranged in tightly coiled ringlets which cascaded down her back. A silver clasp tied it all together at the back. Yes, she was definitely attractive.

Kirk's eyes followed her as she moved towards the turbolift. As the doors slid open, Cadet Christopher stepped out. He immediately traced the line of Kirk's gaze, cast a glance at the Yeoman, and turned back to Kirk with a grin. He strode over.

"She's something," he said as he bent down towards Kirk.

Kirk, with some surprise at Christopher's nonchalance, raised his eyebrows. "She's alright," he said dismissively.

"Alright?" the Cadet replied, in a shocked tone. He turned his head back to where Yeoman Waltham had disappeared a few seconds ago. "I'd say she's a fair sight better than alright, Jim."

Kirk laughed. "Well, I suppose you're right."

"The girls on this ship are all so dolled up," Christopher said. "Waltham looks … _real_, you know?"

Kirk shook his head, still grinning. "Don't you have something to do?" he said.

"Yeah," he said casually, straightening up. "I have a date with Chekov."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "You get around," he said, with a smirk.

"What can I say …" Christopher said humorously, then, sobering, "He agreed to give me some more lessons in Navigation. My test scores weren't great in that area, as you'll recall."

Kirk nodded. "Excellent initiative."

"Well, if I don't make it to Ensign soon, I'm going to have a mental breakdown," Christopher admitted. "Do you know that I spent all of yesterday cleaning the mess hall?"

Kirk frowned. He knew there had been a systems failure down there, but why that would involve the Cadet, he did not know.

"Sanitation Control blew out," Christopher explained, "and then a bunch of the replicators malfunctioned and sent food flying everywhere. It was pandemonium."

"I take it this has been fixed?" Kirk inquired.

"Yeah, it's fine," Christopher replied, a little petulantly, as if he felt Kirk had not quite grasped the primary message of his story.

Kirk shook his head and smiled. "If you continue to perform as you have, you'll be an Ensign in no time," he said encouragingly.

Christopher raised an eyebrow and Kirk realized how his statement had sounded.

"I was talking about your testing," he specified.

Christopher laughed. "I'm sure you were."

He gave Kirk a friendly slap on the shoulder and sauntered over to Chekov, crouching down next to him with a grin.

"Greetings, my Russian friend," he said jovially.

Kirk shook his head fondly. Christopher had really become popular among the crew. He was serious and dedicated to his work, but he was also sociable and funny, and he made friends easily. Kirk knew that both Chekov and Sulu had taken a great liking to him, and it made Kirk very happy. He was intensely grateful that Christopher was finding himself such a welcome home on the Enterprise. It was precisely what he had hoped for.

Kirk watched for a little while as Chekov set about his lesson. After a moment, a faint tingling sensation alerted him to the fact that he was being watched, and he turned to see Spock eyeing him with an unreadable expression. He held the Vulcan's gaze stubbornly, and the two of them had a furious, minute-long staring match before McCoy, who had been chatting with Scotty over by the Engineering Station, drew Kirk's attention with a sharp prod in the back.

With a mixture of exasperation and relief, he turned.

"Hi," McCoy said with somewhat unnecessary cheer.

Kirk scowled. "You're in a better mood," he stated.

His own mood had deteriorated with alarming speed. Spock's behavior, however much he had told himself he would let it go, was absolutely infuriating. And if the damned Vulcan insisted on staring at him at all hours of the day with that annoyingly unfathomable expression, couldn't he just as well open his mouth and talk? He cast a dark glance at his First Officer, who was immersed in his duties once more. He promptly resisted the urge to pull a face at Spock's back.

"You said you wanted me here, so I'm pulling you out of your downward spiral," McCoy said helpfully.

Kirk raised an eyebrow. "Downward spiral?"

McCoy lowered his voice. "If you don't stop obsessing about it, you're going to go mad."

Kirk didn't answer. Instead he put his hands to his temples and rubbed them gently.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, excepting an extremely tense moment when Christopher had applied to Spock for his opinion on some scientific matter. Kirk didn't quite catch the subject of their conversation, but Spock's reply to Christopher's request had apparently been short enough for Christopher to make some protest. To this Spock had responded with a disdainful expression, and had then turned back to his work without another word.

Christopher moved over to Kirk, followed by the interested glances of several of the Bridge crew. Kirk wordlessly let them know that they should mind their own business.

"What's his problem?" the Cadet asked, jerking his head in Spock's direction and speaking just loudly enough that Kirk was sure Spock could hear him.

Kirk spared the Vulcan another, frustrated look, then he shook his head. "I really, _really_ wish I knew," he said.

Christopher also cast Spock an angry glance. "Well he's got _something_ stuck up his –"

"Cadet," Kirk interrupted him in a strict tone. "You are talking about a superior officer."

For a moment, Christopher looked very much like he would like to argue that point, but then he, recovering his inherent professionalism, straightened up and relaxed his face.

"I apologize," he said officially.

Kirk gave him a small smile. "Why don't you go with Scotty down to Engineering?" he suggested. "He's going to start recalibrating the main computer down there. It's been in need of an overhaul for a while. It might be interesting."

Christopher sent Kirk a would-be suspicious look. "If you want to get rid of me …"

Kirk rolled his eyes in response and waved him off carelessly. As Christopher passed him, he briefly and discreetly slid his hand up Kirk's arm. Kirk turned his head to watch him go and met the gaze of Doctor McCoy, who regarded him with a knowingly raised eyebrow.

So perhaps the touch had not been quite as discreet as Kirk would have liked.

He flashed McCoy a somewhat sheepish look. The good doctor did not look amused. He caught up with Kirk as he stepped into the turbolift that evening, and took care to give him a very long and hard look before speaking.

"Cadet Christopher?" he said, crossing his arms bossily over his chest. "Really, Jim?"

Kirk tried very hard not to look too guilty, but didn't quite meet McCoy's gaze as he said, "What do you mean?"

McCoy regarded him with an almost pitying expression. "Jim, I have _eyes_, you know," he said darkly. "Though, sometimes I wish I didn't," he added as a sullen afterthought.

Kirk, realizing it would be pointless to try to dissuade his friend, sighed and shrugged. They both stepped out of the turbolift on Level Five, and Kirk followed Bones to Sickbay. Once inside, McCoy made sure they were alone, then he turned to Kirk with a stern expression.

"Please tell me you're not sleeping with him," he said, then he shook his head violently. "No, forget I said that – I don't want to know." He seemed to deliberate for a moment as Kirk stood still with his eyebrows raised. "If you _are_ sleeping with him," McCoy said after a moment, "and I _don't_ want to know if you are … just don't …" But he was apparently unable to finish his own thought, for he simply trailed off looking faintly disturbed.

Kirk merely looked at him with his hands on his hips, unsure of what his friend wanted him to say if he didn't want a confession, and didn't want to give his opinion on the matter. This silence went on for such a long time that Bones finally let out an exasperated noise and said,

"Well?" as if he had posed a question he expected Kirk to answer.

Kirk felt he had no other option but to say, "Well what?", which frustrated the Doctor exceedingly.

"Jim," he said, with impatience. "What's going on with Christopher?"

Kirk frowned. "I thought you said you didn't want to know."

McCoy threw out his arms in exasperation. "I don't," he said, "but it doesn't seem like I have much of a choice. You're running around obsessing about Spock, while at the same time …" He struggled to find the appropriate expression. Kirk decided to help him.

"Having sex with Christopher," he offered helpfully. McCoy groaned. Kirk gave him a minute.

"I'm going to have to wash out my brain later," Bones complained.

Kirk rolled his eyes. "You were the one who wouldn't mind your own business," he reminded him.

Bones seemed to think that this was a reasonable comment. He considered Kirk for a moment, then said, "Do you have any kind of plan as to how this thing with the Cadet is going to go?" He paused for a moment. "And what about Spock?" he added, almost hesitatingly.

Kirk made a frustrated noise. "What about Spock?" he grumbled. "He doesn't even seem to want my friendship anymore. It's like you've been trying to tell me: I need to get past it."

McCoy frowned. "And you're doing this by … sleeping with the Cadet?" The words seemed to cost the Doctor quite an effort to say, but Kirk was struck more forcefully by the accusatory tone.

"You mean am I using him?" he said sharply.

"Jim," McCoy sighed, but made no additional effort to contradict this assumption. For all intents and purposes, it appeared this had been precisely the Doctor's meaning.

Kirk felt distinctly annoyed. "You presume too much, Bones," he said sternly.

The Doctor folded his arms across his chest once more, and his eyebrows flew up in an expression that reflected his next words.

"Oh yeah? Then why don't you prove me wrong. Tell me you're in love with him."

Kirk, feeling a little stumped, searched for some way to sidestep the question. After two seconds' furious deliberation, he landed on, "I thought you didn't want to hear about that."

McCoy was not deterred. "Don't avoid the issue, Jim," he said strictly. "Do you actually love him, or not?"

Kirk glared at the Doctor for another moment, then he made a frustrated, noncommittal shrug. "_Love_ is a … a strong word," he said, his tone evasive.

Again, McCoy frowned. "That doesn't seem to have bothered you before," he pressed. "Goodness knows you fling the term out often enough."

Kirk opened his mouth, fully intending to deny this, but then he closed it again firmly. He took a slightly shifty breath.

"I … tend to get a bit carried away sometimes," he admitted reluctantly.

"Aha!" McCoy exclaimed jubilantly, a look of intense self-satisfaction on his face. "So you're not always violently in love with all these girls you – you … _get intimate with_."

Kirk was finding this conversation increasingly annoying. He really wanted to wipe that smug look off Bones' face.

"Well, I like some of them," Kirk said, and Bones shook his head in a knowing fashion that did nothing to abate Kirk's irritation. "Like you've never had anyone just for the fun of it," he added with a glare in McCoy's direction.

McCoy held up his hands as if in surrender. "I never said I hadn't, Jim," he said cheerfully. "But then I never claimed to love them either." He winked. Then he sobered. "In all seriousness, though," he said calmly, "do you know what you're doing with the Cadet?"

Kirk regarded him for a quiet moment, then he sighed. "We're not in love, Bones," he said.

McCoy raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And this is a mutual thing, is it?" he inquired.

Kirk nodded. "Yes."

McCoy sighed again. "Well, that's something," he said, though he was clearly not comforted, "but it still leaves the larger issue of your station and his, as well as his situation."

Kirk flung out an arm. "Why do you think we haven't paraded it around?"

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "The Cadet wasn't very subtle on the Bridge earlier today," he said reasonably.

Kirk, his jaw set, responded, "No one else appears to have noticed."

McCoy allowed his gaze to drift away, and he mumbled something Kirk didn't quite catch.

"What?" Kirk said sharply.

McCoy shook his head. "Nothing, Jim," he said, sounding thoughtful. "Listen. I'm not going to pester you about this. If you say it isn't affecting either of your jobs, I'll believe you for now. But be careful. And try to be more … discreet about it."

Their conversation ended there, and Kirk walked out of Sickbay feeling annoyed, and slightly embarrassed.

* * *

><p>Another day passed by without incident. A brief conversation with Christopher resulted in the mutual agreement that any signs of affection between them, however small, would be limited to their private sphere. Christopher had no greater desire of being suspected of moving up because of sexual favors than Kirk had of being the recipient of said favors.<p>

Spock maintained his infuriating silent treatment, and Kirk still didn't understand how he had deserved this, though he sometimes caught McCoy glancing at the Vulcan with something like understanding in his eyes. When he questioned Bones about this, the Doctor merely shrugged it off. But Kirk was not convinced. However, as they were moving closer to their destination, and as a quarrel with his CMO was the very last thing he wanted on top of everything else, he let it lie. For now.

He went to bed that night with his head buzzing, unable to settle down, and drifted off to a very uneasy sleep.

_He was rushing through the cosmos on a twentieth century freight train. Scotty was running up and down, pulling out giant chunks of his hair as he attempted to keep the thing flying._

"_Huh," Kirk said._

"_Captain!" Scotty shouted, looking very strange with only half of his hair. "I cannae do it! I cannae do it – it's impossible!"_

_Kirk frowned. This was all very bizarre. If his Chief Engineer couldn't keep his ship flying, then who could? He scratched his head absent-mindedly._

"_What seems to be the problem, Mr. Scott?" he said, turning on his official voice. It was always good for serious business._

_Scotty held up what appeared to be a long, chunky block of turquoise rubber._

"_It's broken, Sir!" he wailed, putting the thing in Kirk's hands, who eyed it with a disgusted expression. He ran his hands along it. It felt slimy._

_He sent a quick glance around. Then he looked back at the turquoise thing, which was now shaped like a fish. Well, of course it was a fish. He felt nervous. He didn't know what a turquoise fish was doing on his ship, let alone what he could do to fix it. He didn't even know how to tell that it was broken._

_He wrinkled his nose and held it up by the tail. "Have you tried rewiring it?" he said, though he couldn't for the life of him imagine where the wires would be. "Or maybe you should just cut of this part –" he indicated the head "– then it'll look like a Y. That might help."_

_Scotty took the thing from his hands with a look of relief on his face. "Aye, Sir," he said. "That might just work."_

_Kirk leaned back in his chair, satisfied. Oh yeah. He wasn't Captain for nothing. Then a set of footsteps alerted him to the presence of Spock, who placed a hand on Kirk' shoulder and said,_

"_Your skills are formidable, Captain."_

_Kirk grinned, feeling reassured, and very pleased with himself. Getting compliments from Spock was the best._

_He looked up. They were suddenly in Spock's quarters. Strange. Also, Spock was shirtless. Stranger. Kirk felt it was prudent to stand up, so he did. The Captain's chair, which really didn't have any business being in Spock's quarters in the first place, was promptly beamed away. Kirk assumed it had gone back to the Bridge. He would have to check up on that later. But now Spock was looking at him with intense eyes, and Kirk decided that unraveling the mysteries of his chair would have to wait. Spock moved forwards. Kirk moved backwards. He looked down. His own shirt had also disappeared … though this he didn't find so strange._

_He looked up again. Spock was standing right in front of him. He was smiling a little, one of those rare smiles that exceeded the limits of his eyes. Kirk felt hot all over. The Vulcan took another step forwards, so that they were all but touching. He raised a long-fingered hand and traced the length of Kirk's torso, slowly. He leaned in and placed his face close, so close, and for some reason, Kirk could not lean forwards and kiss him, though he really wanted to. It was like he was frozen. But Spock's hand was caressing Kirk's neck, and he let out a small shudder …_

Kirk awoke as abruptly as if someone had slapped him across the face. He was breathing heavily. Attempting to calm himself, he turned his head to the side to find a grinning Christopher, propped on his elbow, eyeing Kirk with obvious amusement.

"I think someone was having a happy dream," he said.

Kirk raised his eyebrows and for some reason felt embarrassed. He didn't think he spoke in his sleep, but if he had …

Trying to sound nonchalant, he said, "What makes you say that?"

Christopher raised his eyebrows and jerked his head towards Kirk's sheets. Kirk looked down, where parts of his covers were protruding in a very telltale fashion.

"Oh. Right."

Christopher let out a small laugh. "Why don't I take care of that for you?" he said, with a wink.

Before Kirk could so much as respond, Christopher had moved over him and flipped the sheets back. He traced his hands down Kirk's torso, and Kirk closed his eyes, for one, small moment imagining another pair of hands.

But Christopher's hands were too warm for his fantasy. However, they were not lacking in skill, and Kirk tilted his head back as a wave of contentment coursed through his system.

* * *

><p>The following morning brought with it a change.<p>

Kirk was woken at a quarter past four by the intercom; Uhura was calling his name urgently, her voice strained. Kirk jumped lithely out of bed and hurried across the room, pressing the button deftly.

"Kirk here," he said calmly. "Lieutenant, what's the problem?"

"You are needed on the Bridge immediately, Captain," she replied instantly, sounding tense. "We have received an urgent distress call from Starbase 15. It's dated several days ago. I don't know why we haven't received it earlier!"

She sounded so harassed that Kirk, after reassuring her that he would be there shortly, raced across the room to get to his shirt, which he pulled on with such force that it nearly tore. Hurling himself into the corridor, he ran to the nearest turbolift and stepped out onto the Bridge a minute later with windswept hair and crumpled uniform.

Hastily straightening his shirt, he moved over to Communications, where Uhura was holding a finger to her ear with a look of the utmost consternation. She turned as he approached, and seemed slightly relieved.

"Captain," she said breathlessly.

"Play me the message," Kirk demanded.

Uhura pressed a few choice buttons on her console so that a distressed, wheezy voice rang across the Bridge.

"This is Commodore Mallory," he said, his voice shaking, and Kirk felt a jolt somewhere in the region of his stomach. He knew him. "This is an urgent distress call to any ship in the vicinity of Starbase 15. We are under attack by an unidentified enemy who does not respond to our attempts at contact. Many are dead. We are barely managing to hold the control center …" His voice faded slightly, and Kirk could hear him breathing with difficulty. The few words he had spoken seemed to have cost him a great effort. "Please," Commodore Mallory said, "help us."

The message ended, and Kirk spun around towards Uhura. "Was there any more?" he asked hurriedly. "Was there any visual?"

Uhura shook her head. "No, Sir," she replied.

"Have you attempted to contact the Starbase?"

"I have been hailing on all frequencies, but I am not getting a response."

"Keep trying," Kirk said, then, turning to Lieutenant Sulu, "How long to Starbase 15, present speed?"

"Six hours, Sir," the helmsman responded.

"Increase speed to warp seven," Kirk ordered, sitting down in his chair, but, feeling restless, got up again instantly.

Despite the increase in warp speed, Kirk knew that it would still take the Enterprise several hours to reach the Starbase. And even if they could have arrived instantaneously, Uhura had said that the message was sent several days ago. If the situation had been that critical then, there was little chance that anything or anyone had managed to survive this long.

Kirk let out a long, slow breath as he paced up and down next to his chair. Commodore Mallory, or Captain Mallory, as he had been then, had been the one who convinced Kirk to enter Starfleet Academy. Kirk had wanted to be a Starfleet Officer since he was very young, but circumstances outside of his control had led him down something of a destructive path. His time on Tarsus IV had marked him, and, with no family or friends to speak of, Kirk had traveled back to Earth in a haze of hatred and depression. The years following this had been characterized by rootless, reckless behavior. Had it not been for Mallory, Kirk didn't think he would ever have had the strength nor the means to pursue his dreams. For even when he finally picked himself up and applied to the Academy, his less than golden reputation would probably have caused them to turn him down, had it not been for Mallory's favorable recommendation. The man had turned Kirk's existence around.

Kirk stopped his pacing and gazed out of the view screen with a frown on his face. How was it that he had not known of Mallory's transfer? Last he had heard, the Commodore, who had been promoted some five years ago, was working on one of the Starbases closer to Earth. But surely it must have been in the records?

"Mr. Spock," Kirk said, turning to him. "Bring up the information on Starbase 15."

Spock pressed a few buttons. "Starbase 15," he reeled off in a mechanical tone. "Located approximately fifty-seven light years from Earth. Flag officer: Commodore Jacob Mallory, recently transferred. Supporting officers –"

"Yes, thank you, Spock," Kirk interrupted him, and the Vulcan turned in his direction.

Kirk was still frowning as he met Spock's gaze. "I didn't know Commander Mallory was in charge there."

Spock's expression remained neutral. "You have not previously requested the information, Captain," he said.

Kirk looked down and shook his head, feeling frustrated. His head had been all over the place lately. He made a furious decision to get a grip. Then he remembered something, and he straightened up hastily.

"Lieutenant Mallory," he said, moving over to his chair. "Uhura, put me over to the Lieutenant's quarters. He doesn't know."

"Aye, Sir."

Kirk hastily pressed the comm. button on his console and hailed the young officer. "Lieutenant Mallory to the Bridge. This is Captain Kirk, requesting Lieutenant Mallory to the Bridge."

A few moments passed by. Kirk waited. Then a groggy voice responded, "Aye, Sir. I'll be right up."

Three minutes later the turbolift doors opened, and the tired and confused Lieutenant stepped onto the Bridge, obviously trying very hard to look ready and alert. His dark hair was wet and had apparently been very hastily sleeked down. He walked up to Kirk with his back straight and stopped rigidly before him.

"Lieutenant," Kirk said quietly. "There is something you need to hear."

Mallory frowned slightly, his gaze moving from Kirk to Uhura, who once more played the message from Mallory Sr. The Lieutenant's eyes widened as he recognized his father's voice, his hands balling into tensed fists at his sides. When the transmission ended, the Lieutenant, like Kirk, hastily applied to Uhura.

"Wasn't there more?" he asked edgily.

Uhura shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said quietly.

Mallory turned to Kirk, who, anticipating his questions, said, "We are making all possible haste to the Starbase, but the distress call is dated several days ago. No one knows why we haven't received it earlier. We think it was being blocked by something."

The Lieutenant was now visibly shaking. "So … my father …"

Kirk put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "We don't know for certain," he said, his voice low and compassionate, "but I'm afraid there is little chance your father can have survived this long. Not if the conditions were that severe two days ago."

A tremor ran through the Lieutenant's body and he turned his gaze down. His face was stiff with the effort of keeping himself under control.

"I wanted to inform you personally," Kirk continued, lowering his hand. "I thought you had a right to know."

Lieutenant Mallory met Kirk's eyes briefly and nodded mechanically. His expression remained caught between the shocking blow he had been dealt and the desire to maintain his professionalism. Kirk felt intensely sorry for him.

"You are free to return to your quarters, if you wish," he offered, but the Lieutenant, meeting his gaze completely, shook his head jerkily.

"No," he said, with feeling. "Please, Sir, I would like to remain on the Bridge."

Kirk considered him for a moment. "Very well," he said, "you may remain. But you have just been given very unsettling news, so take a moment to yourself. Go to your quarters. Come back when you're ready."

The Lieutenant frowned, and looked for a moment as if he would like to protest, but then he nodded, and, turning, left the Bridge. Kirk watched him go and, sighing, turned back around. Spock's eyes were fixed on him with something like a frown. He looked for a moment as if he were going to speak, but then he lowered his gaze and continued his work.

Kirk resumed his pacing, impatience mounting within him like a wild dance beneath his skin. His hands itched with the inactivity. He wanted to do _something_, but with the Starbase still many light years away, there was little anyone _could_ do.

The minutes snaked by like hours. Kirk soon became convinced that time was moving deliberately slowly to annoy him, but refrained from voicing this thought aloud. Instead, he finally sat down, only to jump up half a minute later when the turbolift doors opened and Christopher came striding in, looking surprisingly alert given the fact that it was barely five o'clock. He looked around at the agitated Bridge crew with a frown on his face.

"What's going on?" he asked, moving towards Kirk.

"Emergency at Starbase 15," Kirk answered.

Christopher glanced out of the view screen, as if expecting to see something there. "Isn't that where we're headed?" he asked.

"Yes," Kirk replied. "We'll be there in approximately one and a half hours. But we've received a distress call from several days ago, and we're afraid we're much too late to help."

Christopher turned his eyes from the view screen and looked at Kirk. "Why didn't the transmission come through sooner? Are our systems malfunctioning?"

It was Uhura who answered. "I have run every test I can think of. Our communications systems are in perfect working condition."

"We think something was blocking the signal," Kirk clarified.

Christopher glanced at Uhura. "So, our systems are being blocked?"

She shook her head, and Kirk answered, "No. We think the transmission must have been jammed at the source."

"So why has it come through now?"

Christopher had asked one of the questions to which Kirk would also have liked an answer. He shook his head heavily.

"We don't know," he replied truthfully. "It must have been unblocked somehow."

"Could that mean that someone's alive over there?"

Kirk spun around to face Lieutenant Mallory, who had chosen that moment to rejoin them on the Bridge. His pale face was alight with a hopeful expression. Kirk didn't want to extinguish that hope, but he didn't want the Lieutenant to have false expectations either. So he shook his head again, feeling miserable.

"It could mean that," he said without much optimism, "but it could also mean that whatever was attacking the Starbase has finished its job and left. Or it could be a trap."

Mallory's face fell visibly, but he kept his back straight as he nodded, and turned his eyes out towards the vast infinity of space flowing past the view screen. He looked very much like he wanted to get lost in it.

Christopher, on the other hand, was looking thoughtful. "If it is a trap …" he started, and Kirk tore his eyes from the dejected Lieutenant.

"Then we spring the trap," he said bluntly. "If there's a single man or woman alive down there, we're going to find him."

His jaw set, Kirk looked around at his crew members, daring them to contradict him, but they all seemed to agree. Christopher shrugged, as if to say, _I'm game_. Only Spock wore a look that seemed to indicate that he thought the plan illogical, though he kept his mouth shut. Kirk was glad of it, for once. He was not going to compromise on this, and he didn't feel like arguing with the Vulcan right now.

With half an hour left until they reached the Starbase, Kirk ordered the rest of the ship's crew awakened and alerted. He wanted all hands at the ready for whatever was to come.

The Starbase came into view approximately twenty minutes later. Kirk, sitting in his chair, gripped the arm rests with ferocity as he looked out on what should have been a living mess of blue and yellow lights, and which was now enveloped in complete darkness. He ordered a switch to sub-warp speeds. Standing next to him with a white-knuckled hand gripping the side of the chair, Lieutenant Mallory visibly tensed.

"It doesn't look good …" he said, his shaky voice barely a whisper.

Kirk took a deep, steadying breath. "No," he said. He turned to Spock. "Life readings?"

The Vulcan, already bent over his scanner, adjusted it as he pressed a few buttons. He straightened up a moment later with an uncharacteristically dark expression.

"There are none," he stated, formal as always, though his tone had a hollow quality.

There were several, sharp intakes of breath from the crew, but Kirk could not allow himself to let the horror of Spock's information strike him just then. Forcing himself, instead, to focus on matters he could actually do something about, he said,

"Any sign of alien vessels in the area?"

Spock, who must have been anticipating this question, instantly replied, "Our sensors are not picking up any signs of activity. However, I am getting some low energy readings from the Starbase."

Kirk exchanged a glance with Lieutenant Mallory before turning back to Spock. "So something's still working down there," he said.

"It would appear so," Spock replied.

"Specifics?"

"It is difficult to determine from this distance given the weak nature of the emanations."

Kirk looked at Sulu. "Let's get closer," he ordered. "But keep going slowly. And keep a safe distance. Move up to the starbase, and maintain a high orbit."

"Aye, Sir."

They inched closer to the base, moving carefully. Spock kept his focus on the scanner, and the other crewmembers kept their eyes and ears glued to their respective stations, wary of any odd sight or sound.

But there was nothing, and, approximately fifteen minutes later, Lieutenant Sulu announced that he was entering orbit.

"Spock," Kirk said immediately. "Any clearer readings now?"

"Yes, Captain," Spock responded, his focus on his instruments. "I detect signs of a functioning life support system in certain areas of the starbase."

"And life readings?" Kirk demanded, hoping that they, too, might have been suppressed by the distance. "Is there any difference now?"

Spock looked up from his scanner. "I am getting something, Captain," he said, "but its nature is unclear. It is very faint. Perhaps a signal of some sort."

Kirk tried not to let his disappointment show on his face. "Very well," he said. "Can you pin down the coordinates for the areas with functioning life support?"

Spock refocused on his scanner and made some adjustments.

"I have coordinates," he said after a small moment.

"Good," Kirk said. "Transfer the coordinates to the Transporter Room. We're beaming down." Kirk turned to Uhura. "Contact Doctor McCoy, he needs to come as well. The rest of you –" he looked around at the crew "– will remain here. Scotty, you have the Conn."

The Scotsman, who had come up to the Bridge only minutes earlier, nodded, and sat down in the chair that Kirk vacated for him.

"If there is any sign of the attackers," Kirk said, looking sternly at him, "you are to contact me immediately. If you can't reach us, your first priority is to get this ship and its crew out of danger, do you hear me? These beings, whoever they are, have successfully destroyed an entire starbase, so this is not the time for heroics. You will get the ship to safety, and you will contact Starfleet immediately and request backup. Is this understood?"

"Perfectly, Sir," Scotty acknowledged, nodding.

This was what Kirk loved about Scotty. There wasn't any need for long-winded explanations with him. He was loyal, reliable and sturdy. Kirk always felt secure leaving the ship in his charge. He gave Scotty a quick pat on the shoulder.

"Good man," he said, and he beckoned for Spock to follow him out of the Bridge.

They got as far as the turbolift. There they were stopped by the ashen-faced form of Lieutenant Mallory, who had stepped directly in front of them with an expression of the utmost determination.

"I want to request permission to accompany the landing party," he said, his voice surprisingly firm.

Kirk considered him briefly. "I don't think that's a good idea, Lieutenant," he replied.

Mallory was unconvinced. "With all due respect, Sir," he said in a voice of forced calm, "I disagree."

Kirk sighed. "You are too close to this," he said.

Mallory frowned. "You know my father too," he argued. "You know him well. You're as close to this as I am."

Normally Kirk would have objected very strongly to one of his junior officers' arguing with him like this, but right now, they simply didn't have the time for lengthy disputes.

"Can you give me your word that you will do exactly as I say, no matter what we find down there?" he said, and the Lieutenant nodded vigorously.

"Yes, Sir."

"I mean that, Lieutenant," Kirk warned. "If I detect any sign of disobedience in you I will have you beamed back aboard immediately. We can't afford mistakes right now, and I want us all to come out of this in one piece."

Mallory nodded once more. "Yes, Sir," he said again, and it looked like he meant it.

As Kirk stepped into the transporter room five minutes later with Spock and Mallory at his heels, he nonetheless felt that taking the Lieutenant with them was a bad move. Kirk would have to keep a close eye on him. He knew all too well what the pain of loss could do to a man.

McCoy was waiting on the transporter, his medical tricorder at the ready. He was looking nervous, but focused.

"Do we think anyone's alive down there, Jim?" he said, as Kirk threw him a breathing apparatus. He caught it and eyed it with a questioning expression. "I thought life support was operational."

Jim stepped onto the transporter, his own apparatus in his hand. "Only in some parts," he answered. "Spock says it's operational at the coordinates he's given us, but I want to be on the safe side." McCoy seemed to think this wise, and pulled his mask on. "We're not sure if anyone's alive," Kirk continued, answering the Doctor's first question, "but I thought it was a good idea to bring you along, just in case."

He pulled on his own mask as Mallory joined them on the platform. He looked faintly sick. After making sure the coordinates were correct, Spock took his place next to Kirk, and Kirk gave the technician the ok.

The transporter room seemed to dissolve, and a few seconds later, they found themselves in the spacious control centre of Starbase 15.

Kirk let out a short, stunted breath.

It was almost completely demolished. It was as if something had raged around the room and taken meticulous care to destroy absolutely everything in its path. In the red glare of the emergency lights, they could see that the instrumentation was torn apart and soot-blackened, there were deep gauge marks in the floor and ceiling, and in some places the walls had been cracked open. A screen of vapory smoke hung in the air like fog. But that wasn't the worst part. Suspended to the walls, hanging off their chairs, strewn haphazardly about the floor were about a dozen people: the control centre's crew.

"My God," McCoy gasped softly.

He bent down next to the nearest victim and ran his tricorder over the body.

"I'm glad we brought these masks, Jim," he said, his voice small. "This one's been dead for two days."

They hadn't had a chance, these people. Kirk looked around at the carnage with what felt like a gaping hole in his chest. He forced himself to breathe slowly. McCoy was right about the masks. Kirk was sure that if they took them off, the stench would be unbelievable.

"Keep your masks on," he said unnecessarily.

He looked at Mallory. The Lieutenant was wide-eyed and shaking. He stood gazing transfixed at a young woman who had been suspended to the wall by means of a metal pole shoved through her chest. Her blonde hair was matted with blood and soot, her open eyes dull and lifeless. Mallory, noticing that Kirk was looking in his direction, turned his eyes slowly to meet Kirk's.

"Who would do this?" he said breathlessly.

Kirk could only shake his head. "I don't know." He looked at Spock. "Readings?"

Spock was already scanning. "Something, Captain," he said, moving his tricorder slowly around. "Bearing that way."

He was pointing the tricorder at a sizeable hole in the wall, where it looked very much like a door used to be. Wasting no time, Kirk led them in that direction, moving cautiously but quickly. As they walked through to what appeared to have been a hallway once, Kirk took out his phaser and, setting it to stun, held it at the ready.

There were no bodies out here, but the haze of smoke remained, drifting on the still air like something out of an old horror movie. It was very dark, and Kirk screwed up his eyes in an attempt to see properly. Spock moved in front of him, his tricorder acting as their guide.

They walked on for several minutes, making very slow progress, until Spock led them into what Kirk took to have been a conference room. Here, the smoke had dispersed somewhat, and as they stepped inside they could make out a still, solitary figure sitting propped up against the wall on the opposite side. Kirk stopped.

It was a man. A small man with a mop of dark grey hair. Kirk felt his stomach turn unpleasantly.

He forced himself to move forwards, not really wanting to see, but he already knew who the man was.

He wore a Commodore's uniform, and his complexion was grey and gaunt. The left side of his face was stained by a mask of dried blood. He had been dead for some time.

Kirk bent down next to his old friend and felt his lungs constrict painfully. Beside him, he heard rather than saw Lieutenant Mallory fall to his knees. A noise somewhere between a moan and a sob, muffled by a breathing mask, rent the air. Kirk turned and placed a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"I am so sorry," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

The Lieutenant didn't answer. He stared at his dead father with heavy tears pouring from his eyes. A few minutes passed in silence, but Kirk knew they could not remain here. No matter how great their loss, they still had work to do. Work that could not wait.

So he motioned to Doctor McCoy, who helped the Lieutenant to his feet. Kirk regarded Commodore Mallory one final time. Then he leaned in a placed a hand gingerly on his head.

"I'm so sorry we couldn't reach you in time," he whispered so that no one else could hear him. "Thank you for –"

The muscles in his jaw clenched uncomfortably. A few tears escaped the confines of his eyes and ran down his cheeks to fall lightly on Jacob Mallory's forehead.

"Thank you," he repeated, almost inaudibly.

And, feeling utterly hollow, Kirk closed the eyes of the man to whom he owed his very existence.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** The great thing about the TOS character James Tiberius Kirk is that we know precious little about his life before Starfleet. That means I get to do pretty much what I want with it. Yay! Know, however, that I will always use the information available to us. Commodore Mallory's importance in Kirk's life is not my invention - he was really the man who helped Kirk get into Starfleet (why he required help, we don't know). No canon details about Kirk's life will be ignored.

Chapter 8 will be up on Friday.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** So I'm on schedule for once. Huzzah. Don't really have much to say right now. Ooo. Except for the fact that I got to use the word _whence_ in this chapter. It made me happy.

Judin is da bomb. Or something. ;)

* * *

><p>Spock regarded his Captain with a curious sensation. It took him a moment to understand that the emotion he was experiencing was pity. He did not know much of Captain Kirk's past, nor did he know a sufficient amount of Commodore Mallory, and the role he had played in the Captain's life, but from the little Captain Kirk <em>had<em> communicated, Spock understood that this was a man who had had a great impact on the Captain's existence.

Caught between compassion and a feeling of great curiosity, Spock merely stood there for a moment, as Doctor McCoy led the unfortunate man's son from the room. Suddenly, he and the Captain were alone, and Captain Kirk's shoulders were shaking. Almost instinctively, Spock moved forwards.

The Captain must have heard his footsteps, for they seemed to awaken him. Shaking his head, he stood up, and, slowly, he turned.

His cheeks were streaked with tears. Spock, who for weeks had sought to contain even the slightest indication of feeling, felt his barriers crumble, and he stepped forwards and placed a hand gently on the Captain's arm.

"I am sorry," he said quietly, his words muffled strangely by the breathing mask he wore.

Captain Kirk did not respond, though he met Spock's gaze with an expression so uncharacteristically helpless that Spock had to utilize all his remaining willpower not to close the final distance between them and fold the Captain in his arms. Instead, he said,

"The Commodore, he was … your friend?"

Kirk's breathing was fast and shallow. It was as if he had suffered a physical blow. Moving suddenly forwards, he grasped Spock's other arm with his free hand.

"Spock ..." he said, the word stunted and full of pain. "I – can't …"

And for once, Spock did not think. All he knew was that he wanted Jim's pain to go away. All he knew was that he wanted to help. They were already so close, much too close, and Spock moved his arm, wrapping it tightly around Jim's back and pulling him to his chest. And then Jim's head was on his shoulder, and Spock's hand had moved, as if of its own accord, to the back of Jim's neck, resting there as if it belonged.

Jim returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around Spock, and his breathing gradually slowed, calmed, as Spock's pulse involuntarily quickened. _No_, he told himself firmly.

For a full minute, they stood still, arms wrapped around each other, until, alerted by a set of footsteps, the Captain pulled back. Spock instantly let his arms drop to his sides and attempted to regain an expression of neutrality, though he knew the effort he was making was rather a poor one.

Jim's eyes were on his, and he wore an expression of quiet puzzlement. As the footsteps drew nearer, Jim hastily brushed the remaining moisture from his face and focused his attention somewhere to the right of Spock's shoulder. Spock did not turn. He kept his focus forwards, hoping that it would calm his racing pulse.

"Jim," Doctor McCoy's voice spoke from behind him. "Are you alright?"

Spock fought the urge to remark on the illogicality of this query. He knew only Doctor McCoy could pose such a question in the midst of what appeared to be a massacre. However, Captain Kirk nodded, waving a hand in Doctor McCoy's direction. Spock turned.

"It's fine, Bones," Captain Kirk said, sounding like this was very far from the truth. "I only wanted to … say goodbye."

He cast a glance back towards the lifeless shape of the Commodore. The Doctor sighed.

"I'm really sorry, Jim," he said. "This is all …"

But precisely what it all was Doctor McCoy did not appear able to say.

"I've taken the Lieutenant into the next room," he said instead. "He's a mess, Jim. I think I should have him beamed up."

Jim regarded the Doctor quietly, then he nodded. "Alright, Bones," he replied.

A set of retreating footsteps told Spock that Doctor McCoy had left. The Captain's eyes were immediately redirected towards Spock. Jim took a moment to survey him quietly. He breathed, slowly.

"Thank you, Spock," he said.

Spock inclined his head. He did not trust himself to speak at the moment; his heart was still beating at an accelerated pace, and his hands were tingling faintly.

"We should … move on."

Once more, Spock inclined his head. He placed his hands behind his back, glancing at the body of the Commodore.

"Do you wish to …" Spock started, hesitated, and rephrased. "What do you wish to do with the Commodore?"

Kirk's eyes moved from Spock to the body and back again. "We'll take him with us," he answered, "when we beam back up. But for now, we'll simply have to leave him."

He motioned towards the door through which Doctor McCoy had disappeared a few minutes previously, and the two of them moved briskly in that direction. As they walked side by side, Spock attempted not to contemplate the feel of Jim's arms around him, or Jim's soft hair against his cheek. He tried not to envision a scenario where Doctor McCoy had not intervened. He was unsuccessful. He could feel Jim's eyes on him as they walked, which did nothing to abate the sensation of mixed discomfort and warmth which was now flowing through his limbs. He knew another conversation with the Captain was imminent, and how he would explain his behavior now was … beyond his powers of deduction.

They had just walked through the door and entered a small, dark hallway, at the end of which was another opening. Remembering that he still had a function to perform, Spock raised his tricorder, which had been hanging uselessly at his side since they had discovered the deceased Commodore. Adjusting a few of the settings, Spock pointed it forwards and instantly stopped, frowning. The Captain stopped as well.

"What is it?" he asked, sounding like he dreaded the response.

Spock, who hastily rechecked the settings to make absolutely certain that the tricorder was not malfunctioning, answered, "A life form, Captain."

He looked towards Jim, whose eyes widened. "Where?" he said, with a hint of excitement.

Spock inclined his head in the direction of the entrance towards which they were walking. "Straight ahead."

They hurried down the passageway and into a larger corridor, somewhat like those of the Enterprise except that this one had, like most of the Starbase, been thoroughly destroyed. Burn marks ran the length of the walls, and the floors and ceiling were cracked. Three people lay along the sides of the passage, their limbs at odd angles.

As they walked along, Doctor McCoy came striding towards them.

"They're all dead, Jim," he said, sounding disgusted and indicating the bodies in the hall. "I've been into all of the rooms along here, and it's all the same. I don't know who killed these people, but it must have been someone with some pretty damn sadistic traditions."

Spock, glancing briefly at the nearest body, whose arms appeared to have been twisted backwards until they had detached themselves from his torso, could not disagree with this statement. However, the tricorder was clearly indicating that someone in the vicinity was alive.

"You have checked each, individual person?" he inquired, looking at the Doctor.

Doctor McCoy, as was his custom, frowned sourly. "Yes, Spock," he said, his tone resentful, "I've checked."

Spock raised his eyebrows. The Doctor's propensity for being affronted by simple queries was not one of his favorable qualities. However, this was hardly the time or place for arguments, so Spock simply explained,

"My tricorder is indicating that we are not the only living creatures down here. If you have, as you said, inspected all of these rooms, and you are quite certain that there is no one you might have overlooked, I must assume that whoever, or whatever, it is, is in some way concealed."

Doctor McCoy's frown deepened. "Don't you know what it is?" he asked. "Could it be one of the attackers?"

Spock shook his head patiently. "I cannot say, Doctor," he responded. "The readings are still very faint."

"But this … whatever it is, is supposedly around here somewhere?" the Doctor pressed.

"Excepting the possibility that my tricorder is malfunctioning, the living entity must be, as you put it, _around here somewhere_," Spock answered.

"Can't you be more specific?" Captain Kirk asked, frowning.

Spock turned his eyes on him. "I am sorry, Captain, but I am afraid that the interference that prevented us from receiving Commodore Mallory's message is still making it difficult for the tricorder to pinpoint location and species with any degree of precision."

"So we're just going to have to look?"

"It appears so."

The three of them exchanged a glance, and, wordlessly, they moved in separate directions. Doctor McCoy headed onwards, Captain Kirk turned into one of the rooms lining the walls, and Spock walked back the way they had come, holding his tricorder ahead of him. He turned right into a room with a door that seemed intact, though it was jammed, and stood half-open; Spock had to step sideways through. Once inside, he let his eyes adjust to the darkness and then moved quickly forwards, his tricorder showing readings similar to those it had shown in the hall.

There were two human forms here, lifeless and cold. The room was otherwise unremarkable. There were no visible hiding places, and unless there were compartments hidden within the walls, Spock did not think it would be possible for anyone to conceal himself here. Nevertheless, he took meticulous care to investigate every inch of the room, tracing his fingers along the walls and floors, searching for cracks, or irregularities. As the aforementioned structural elements had, as their counterparts in the hall, been very badly damaged by the attack, it was challenging for Spock to attempt to define which cracks were supposed to be there and which were not, making the entire exercise somewhat futile.

He straightened up after ten minutes and, having found nothing and deciding to move on, exited the room. The next chamber did not yield any more satisfying results. In the third room, he found the Captain, who was lying on his stomach, his ear to the floor as he rapped it with his knuckles. As Spock approached, Captain Kirk turned and beckoned him down.

"Does this sound hollow to you?"

Spock sat down next to him and listened as the Captain once more brought his fist lightly down upon the floor. Spock raised an eyebrow, and the Captain looked at him with an impatient expression.

"Well?" he said eagerly. "Come on, your hearing is better than mine, can't you –"

Jim stopped abruptly as Spock held up his hand. He had not heard anything to indicate that the floor was hollow, but he had just heard something else. Frowning, he stood up, and turned around. He was certain the sound had emanated from somewhere behind him. It had sounded like a soft moan.

Spock moved slowly towards the opposite wall, but there did not appear to be anything else there. Behind him, he heard the Captain stand up and begin to follow him. Walking with very careful steps, Spock reached the wall and placed his hand lightly on the surface. He heard Captain Kirk stop. For a moment, there was complete silence.

Then he heard it once more, a low, pained breath, and this time, the Captain perceived it as well. He moved hastily forwards and placed his own hand against the wall.

"Someone's in there!" he whispered urgently.

Spock nodded. "Yes," he said. He had not only heard it, but, his hand against the wall, he had felt it.

Captain Kirk instantly placed his head close to the wall and called, "Hello? This is Captain Kirk, of the USS Enterprise. Can you hear me?"

There was no response. He tried again, a little more forcefully, but still no one answered.

He looked at Spock, obviously thinking quickly. "We need Doctor McCoy," he said firmly, taking out his communicator and flipping it open. "Bones," he said into the device, "Bones, we need you in here. We think we've found something."

There was a moment of silence, then Doctor McCoy's voice was heard on the other end. "Alright, Jim, where are you?"

"Second door on the – hang on –" They could hear footsteps in the hall, and Captain Kirk, discarding his communicator, yelled, "Just follow my voice, Bones!"

The Doctor entered the room a moment later, his eyes travelling around the space before landing on the Captain and Spock with an expression of bewilderment.

"What did you say you'd found?" he said curiously. "Maybe I'm just not that observant, but I can't see anything here."

Captain Kirk motioned towards the wall. "In here," he said.

Doctor McCoy raised a skeptical eyebrow. "In the wall?" he said disbelievingly. "You've found something in the wall?"

"We believe it rather to be some_one_, Doctor," Spock responded.

The Doctor looked from Spock to Captain Kirk, who nodded in confirmation. "We heard someone moan," he explained. Raising his hand, he knocked lightly on the surface. "Hello?" he said, once more. "Is there someone in there? This is Captain James T. Kirk, of the Federation starship Enterprise. We are here to help."

As before, there was no response. The Captain looked at Spock and Doctor McCoy in turn. He frowned.

"We're going to have to find a way to get in," he said thoughtfully.

"What do you suggest?" Doctor McCoy responded. "Tear the wall down?"

Captain Kirk shook his head. "No," he said, "we can't risk that; we have to be careful."

Spock, who had been following the exchange while examining the area with his tricorder, looked up. "Logically," he stated, "we must assume that the person, or creature, within did not have sufficient time to build a wall around him- or herself. There must, therefore, be a space inside the confines of the walls, to which there is some kind of access. We simply need to locate the entrance."

The Captain looked at him. "Like a hidden compartment," he said. "A kind of panic room."

"Precisely," Spock replied.

"So how do we get in?" Doctor McCoy said, with impatience. "As you may have noticed, there aren't any big signs saying _entrance this way_, and it seems like the wall is pretty much whole."

Spock turned his eyes on him. "You have just described the nature of the word _hidden_, Doctor," he said. "It is not a word generally used to indicate something which is out in the open. We are going to have to search."

The Doctor eyed him for a moment with narrowed eyes. Then he threw his hands up in the air.

"Well, let's get to it then!" he said exasperatedly. "If some poor devil's been stuck in there for two days, something tells me they're not feeling too good right now."

"Spock," Captain Kirk said, eyeing the tricorder in his hands. "Are you getting anything?"

Spock shook his head slowly. "It appears that interference on the Starbase is still substantial. My readings remain fragmented and inconsistent. We are going to have to carry out our investigations the traditional way."

The three of them set immediately to work, moving back and forth beside the wall, searching for any indication of an opening. Spock was once more tracing his fingers along the wall, reaching out with his mind, hoping to attain a connection with the life form within. Every once in a while, Spock could perceive a long drawn-out breath, or a pained sigh, as if the human or creature inside was struggling for life. However, the apparent frailty of the person made it impossible to form a firm mental link. Occasionally, Spock's hands would tingle, and he would receive short, faint flashes of something, something that was not connected to his own being, but it was not substantial enough for him to make a coherent reading.

"Have we considered the fact that this might very well be one of the aliens who attacked the place?" Doctor McCoy asked after ten minutes of fruitless exploration.

Captain Kirk looked at the wall with a frown, but Spock made a slight shake of his head. "That is not logical, Doctor," he said. "The creatures who attacked the Starbase have proven themselves highly efficient in the ways of destruction. They have also clearly shown that their weapons- and attack systems are far superior to those of the Starbase. You will notice we have discovered countless human casualties, whereas there is not a single alien body to be found."

"They might have taken their dead with them," Captain Kirk said thoughtfully.

Spock considered. "In the light of this macabre display, I have to surmise that these creatures do not hold life in very high regard," he said.

"But they might care more for their own than for others," the Captain pointed out.

Spock inclined his head. "That is indeed possible," he concurred, "which makes it all the less likely that they should leave one of their own behind in the manner suggested."

"So we think it's human then," Doctor McCoy concluded tentatively.

"As I can recall from the database information on the Starbase, there were several races working together here," Spock answered, "so I cannot make any conjectures as to the nature of the being within the wall. However, it is probably safe to assume that it is not hostile."

Doctor McCoy nodded. Then he turned to the wall with a frown. "This is taking too long," he said. "There has to be a better way of doing this."

He took out his medical tricorder and passed it in front of the stretch of wall they had identified as the unknown person's hiding place.

"Whoever it is isn't doing too well," he stated unnecessarily. It had been quite obvious, from the nature of the person's labored breathing, that he or she was not in the best of health.

Captain Kirk immediately approached Doctor McCoy and, once more, attempted to address the person within the wall. As before, his efforts at acquiring a response were fruitless. He proceeded to run his fingers hastily across the wall, finally slamming his right fist into it. This seemed to Spock an entirely pointless course of action; he suspected the Captain might be experiencing some frustration.

"How do we open the damned thing?" Captain Kirk muttered.

"I don't know, Jim," the Doctor responded, sounding somewhat dispirited. "We've tried everything I can think of. We've searched the entire room for openings or secret buttons or controls, we've tried pushing against it, we've tried voice command …" He ticked all these points off on his fingers as he spoke. "I think the only option left is the one we discarded in the first place. Blunt force."

The Captain immediately shook his head. "We can't risk –" he started, but the Doctor interrupted him.

"The person in there is dying. If we don't get to them soon, it'll be too late anyway. You've seen the state of the station. I'm sure there must have been some way of accessing the entrance to the wall at some point, but odds are the creatures who blasted away the control center also blasted away Engineering, which, as you know, means that there is a good chance just about everything is malfunctioning. We can try to locate Engineering in this mess, and see if some obvious control marked "secret room in wall" pops up, but somehow I'm thinking that that may be a waste of time."

He turned to Spock with a raised eyebrow, and Spock was somewhat taken aback by the fact that he agreed with the Doctor. He turned his eyes on the Captain.

"Doctor McCoy speaks … logically, Captain." Spock ignored the Doctor's expression, which was simultaneously surprised and smug. "It does not appear that the creatures who destroyed this base left much unscathed. It is, therefore, reasonable to suspect that the power which fed the automatic controls within the walls has been cut off, just as much of the rest of the power the station was relying on."

For a moment, the Captain looked from Doctor McCoy to Spock, apparently just as surprised to witness their concurrence as they were. Then he sighed, and with an appearance of great uncertainty, pulled out his communicator, and, with some difficulty due to continuing interference, signaled the Enterprise.

Five minutes later Chief Engineer Scott was seen sprinting into the room, his equipment at the ready. The Captain and Spock had decided that he should beam down to the control center of the station, as interference prevented their acquiring precise coordinates of their own current location.

Mr. Scott slowed as he approached them, and he wore an uncharacteristically dark expression. He cast a glance over his shoulder, into the hall beyond, then he turned back, shaking his head slowly back and forth.

"Who would do this?" he said, apparently addressing himself to no one in particular.

"We're going to find out," Captain Kirk replied firmly. Spock recognized the determined expression on the Captain's face, and knew that, regardless of how difficult it would be, Captain Kirk would not stop until he had discovered the perpetrators responsible for this atrocity. Spock had never quite decided whether he found this quality in his Captain foolish or admirable, though he suspected his feelings included something of both opinions.

"I certainly hope so, Captain," Mr. Scott responded, with ferocity. He strode over to the wall, where Doctor McCoy was standing with his medical tricorder. "Is it here?" he asked.

The Doctor nodded. "Try aiming high," he said, indicating a point in the wall approximately level with his shoulders. "I'm pretty sure the person inside will be lying down. If we go from the top it's less likely we'll …"

He trailed off. Mr. Scott apparently did not require the complete sentence, for he nodded significantly and extracted from his tool box a small cutter beam. He lifted it to the point indicated by Doctor McCoy, and, holding it delicately in both hands, proceeded to cut through the wall.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you to be careful," Captain Kirk said, eyeing the cutter beam warily.

"Don't worry, Captain," Mr. Scott replied, his eyes on his task. "I'm goin' slowly."

The Chief Engineer first cut a small hole through which he could better determine the unknown person's position within the space. Having done so, he commenced the tiring exercise of carving a shape like a door in the unrelenting wall; this took nearly fifteen minutes. Doctor McCoy remained vigilant with his tricorder, monitoring the weak life signs he was receiving, occasionally urging Mr. Scott to quicken his pace. Captain Kirk and Spock stood back, listening intently for any further signs of distress within the wall.

Finally, a sizeable piece of wall was extracted. Spock assisted in the removal of the square fragment, as it was quite heavy, and then he, Captain Kirk, Mr. Scott and Doctor McCoy congregated around the opening.

Within lay a human female, unconscious, her uniform torn and bloody. Her right leg stood out at an odd angle; it appeared to be broken. She was shaking. The lack of lighting made it impossible to discern anything further, but Doctor McCoy immediately clambered through the hole and, crouching down next to the woman, passed his tricorder over her, a deep frown on his face.

"Three broken bones, severe bruising, internal bleeding, first degree burns, dehydration, and she's running a pretty high fever," the Doctor said, his voice low and concerned. "She's dying, Jim. It's a miracle she's managed to survive this long. We have to get her out of here immediately."

Captain Kirk instantly climbed through the opening after Doctor McCoy and carefully moved around the dying woman so that he crouched behind her head. The space was very small. It appeared to be constructed to hide only one or two people at a time. The Captain placed his hands under her arms, drawing her very gently up to a sitting position, though her body continued to tremble. Doctor McCoy lifted her legs and backed slowly out of the wall. Spock, moving instantly forwards, assisted the Doctor. They lifted the woman out very slowly, afraid of causing her further damage. When the Doctor had clambered fully out of the hole, he left the task of lifting the woman's legs to Spock, while he once more extracted his tricorder and continued taking her readings. As the female's leg was broken below the knee, Spock gripped her legs above the joint and from the side, attempting to support the broken limb while carrying her forwards.

As the Captain emerged from the opening, Spock shifted one of his arms and put it carefully under the woman's shoulders, taking the burden off Captain Kirk so he could clamber out into the room. Now that he stood with her in his arms, her injuries were thrown into somewhat sharper relief.

Her face bore several, deep cuts and her hair was matted with blood. She was extremely pale. There was bruising around her neck, as if someone or something had attempted to strangle her, and her breathing was labored and erratic. A tear in her uniform revealed a visibly injured chest – dark blue discolorations made Spock suspect broken ribs. She was also, Spock realized with a small, internal tremor, just a girl, possibly Chekov's age.

At the Doctor's bidding, Spock lowered her carefully to the ground, and Doctor McCoy, wrenching open his medical kit, withdrew from it a hypospray, examined it for a moment through squinted eyes, and then applied it to the female's upper arm. He repeated this several times, withdrawing from his kit hyposprays of many different colors and dosages, before he turned his eyes to the Captain and said,

"I've got her stable enough to transport her up. We have to get her to Sickbay immediately."

"Of course," Captain Kirk replied instantly. "We'll need to take her up to the control center. The interference isn't as bad there." He eyed the female, who was now still and seemed to breathe more freely. "What did you give her?"

Doctor McCoy frowned. "Just about everything I had with me," he said. "Kelotane, Corophizine, Neodextramine, Terakine, Pulmozine … But she needs a blood transfusion, and soon."

"Come on, then," Captain Kirk said, nodding. Spock instantly took the girl in his arms and straightened up. The Captain eyed him for a moment with a small frown on his face.

"My physical strength is greater than yours," Spock explained, looking at his fellow crewmembers in turn. "I will be able to move with her more rapidly. I suggest we hurry."

Without waiting for a reply, he moved past them and into the corridor. As he hurried along the demolished passage, Captain Kirk moved up to his side, his communicator in hand.

"Enterprise, come in, this is Captain Kirk."

There were several seconds of static, and then Lieutenant Uhura's voice replied, "Enterprise here, Captain. We are still having trouble receiving you, Sir."

"We are heading towards the Starbase control center now. Have you been able to get a message through to Starfleet?"

"Yes, Sir. They are sending a repair crew. We have been given orders to investigate the unknown threat using any and all necessary means."

An expression of fierce satisfaction settled on the Captain's face. "Good," he responded. Then he hailed the transporter room and alerted the technician on duty of their imminent arrival and of the need for a medical gurney.

He moved past Spock and led the way into the control center. When all five of them were in place – Doctor McCoy came last, running with his medical kit half-open, an expression of the deepest frustration on his face – Captain Kirk lifted his communicator and said,

"Enterprise, this is the Captain. Four to beam up."

Spock frowned. "I believe there are five of us, Captain."

Captain Kirk shook his head slightly. "I want all of you to beam up," he said. "I'm going to get Commodore Mallory," He explained, after a small pause.

"Do you require assistance?" Spock inquired softly.

The Captain seemed to look at him for a long moment, or perhaps it was just a few seconds – Spock's internal clock appeared to be malfunctioning – then he shook his head. "No, Spock, I can manage on my own." He redirected his attention towards his communicator. "Four to beam up, then," he repeated.

Spock kept his gaze fixed firmly on his Captain as he dematerialized, and it was almost as if Captain Kirk's eyes lingered at the forefront of his vision as he rematerialized in the Enterprise's transporter room.

A stretcher had been prepared for the young woman, and they hurriedly placed her upon it. Doctor McCoy led the procession to Sickbay, where Spock assisted him in getting her onto a biobed. They both watched the monitor as Doctor McCoy switched it on, and though they had expected weak readings, it was somehow still surprising to see how very close the poor girl was to death. Hopefully, they would be able to help her now.

Doctor McCoy immediately called for Nurse Chapel, and began administering various medications.

"And bring an osteogenic stimulator," Doctor McCoy added as an afterthought.

Nurse Chapel walked into the room a moment later, carrying equipment for a blood transfusion, as well as the stimulator and a case full of loaded hyposprays. She handed the equipment to Doctor McCoy, who was now scanning the girl's leg with his tricorder, a deeply set frown on his face. After a small moment, he groaned.

"As I feared," he said darkly. "The bone has already started to mend. It'll have to be re-broken."

Spock frowned. This was not usually a complicated procedure, but he was fairly certain he understood the Doctor's trepidation. The young woman was far too weak to be given anesthetics – anything that dulled or slowed her system would in all likelihood be lethal to her.

Doctor McCoy appeared to share Spock's cognitive process, for, as if finishing the thought, he mumbled, "I'm just going to have to break it the old-fashioned way." He cast a concerned glance at his patient. "I really hope she's far enough away that she won't feel it. I think she's already had enough pain to last her a lifetime …" He took a quick look at the various medical equipment which now stood at his side. "She needs a transfusion first," he said in a tone indicative of thinking aloud, and Nurse Chapel hurried over to help him get the equipment set up.

Once the blood transfusion was well underway, and everything appeared to be functioning to Doctor McCoy's satisfaction, he turned again to Nurse Chapel. "I need you to hold her down," he said, and it was clear that the time to re-break the girl's leg had arrived.

She obeyed, placing her arms firmly on either side of the girl's torso. Spock stepped forwards.

"Do you wish me to hold her other leg?" he inquired.

Doctor McCoy, who was once more moving his tricorder over the patient's broken limb, no doubt to ensure the most accurate readings possible, glanced at Spock, and nodded. Spock placed one hand above, and one below her knee, as Doctor McCoy assessed the leg.

"At least it isn't the joint," Doctor McCoy said, as he lifted the limb very gingerly. "It's broken just below the knee. She'll be in pain for a while, but her leg should heal relatively well."

He lifted the leg until it rested on his right shoulder. Then he placed his left hand at her knee, and his right approximately ten inches above the break. His own, left knee rested on the biobed, so that he was positioned right in front of her. As the break caused her limb to project out to the right, Doctor McCoy would have to break it back to the left. Spock saw the Doctor's fingers tense in their grip.

"Hold her tight," he said. They prepared themselves.

Doctor McCoy made a sudden, forceful movement. There was a sickening snap, and the leg was bent back the right way.

"Keep holding her," the Doctor said, though neither Spock nor Nurse Chapel had given any sign of loosening their grips. The patient, however, had not moved.

Doctor McCoy proceeded to straighten the leg, placing the bones back together so that they would mend correctly. Having done so, he placed the osteogenic stimulator over the limb, and Nurse Chapel and Spock stepped back.

Doctor McCoy regarded the woman for a moment, then he sighed. "Now for the rest of her," he said. He took a quick look at the medical supplies at his side, apparently decided that he required something further, and promptly left the room.

Nurse Chapel turned to Spock and slowly walked over to him. Spock regarded her with his usual, impassive expression.

"It's so terrible," she said sadly.

Spock assumed she was referring either to the girl, or to the Starbase, or both, and therefore felt that he could quite easily agree with her. "Yes," he said curtly.

She moved closer still, so that she stood only a few feet away from him. Spock placed his hands behind his back and stood rigidly in place. He vaguely wondered when the Doctor would choose to reappear. Nurse Chapel was gazing at him searchingly. Spock turned his head towards the door, and was disappointed, when he turned back, to see that she was still looking at him. Feeling the smallest twinge of annoyance, he raised his eyebrow.

This, apparently, was invitation enough for the Nurse to speak.

"How are you, Spock?" she said, her voice low and compassionate.

Spock frowned. He was not pleased that his distraction had been such that the entire crew had taken notice. A feeling of embarrassment was added to the irritation within him.

"I am quite well, thank you," he said dispassionately.

Nurse Chapel's eyes remained locked on his. "I thought …" she began, hesitated, and gave him a small, shy smile. "I was under the impression you had been sick."

"Your impression was erroneous," Spock replied evenly. "I was simply fatigued. I have rested, and now feel, as I stated, quite well."

Spock could not fathom why this curt, emotionless and somewhat dismissive response should elicit such an affectionate smile from Nurse Chapel, but he had never understood her fascination with him. In every respect, it was illogical. He had never encouraged, nor welcomed, her attraction.

A small, unbidden voice within him alerted him to the fact that his attraction to his Captain, a man whose tastes clearly found satisfaction in very different places, must be equally illogical.

His frown deepened. This did not deter Nurse Chapel, who moved her hand as if about to touch him. Luckily, Doctor McCoy chose that moment to reappear, and the Nurse quickly stepped around Spock to relieve the Doctor of some of the medical equipment with which his arms were laden.

Spock, his mind still on Jim, glanced at the young woman on the biobed. A feeling of unease crept over him. He considered it for a moment, unsure of where it came from, then he realized that Jim should have been back by now.

Without really thinking about it, he moved swiftly towards the door. He just had time to make a brief mental plan – transport down, locate the Captain – before the door to Sickbay opened with a _swish_, and Captain Kirk entered the room, followed by a gurney on which, covered by a light, white sheet, lay the still form of Commodore Jacob Mallory.

Spock stepped aside to let the Captain pass, and their eyes met briefly. Jim was keeping his face protectively blank, but his eyes seemed to respond as they met Spock's.

The Captain moved over to McCoy with the gurney. "I would like to have a burial," he said. "I'm going to make the arrangements, but he needs somewhere to stay in the meantime."

Doctor McCoy wore an expression that seemed caught between sympathy and exasperation. "This isn't a morgue, Jim," he said, with a little less than his usual gusto.

"I know," the Captain replied firmly, "but it's the closest we've got." When the Doctor did not look entirely convinced, Captain Kirk said, "I want to give him a proper burial, Bones. The preparations won't take long."

Doctor McCoy sighed, and motioned for the Captain to move the stretcher forwards. "I'll put him over here," he said, motioning to a corner of the room. "As long as these preparations of yours don't take too long," he added, his voice indicating his displeasure.

The gurney was moved to its allotted place. Captain Kirk's eyes were locked on the body for several, long moments before he looked away and turned towards the door. Spock followed him automatically, and the two of them exited Sickbay together, leaving Doctor McCoy and Nurse Chapel to care for their patient.

The funeral took place an hour later. A standard, black coffin was placed in one of the photon torpedo casings, draped in a Federation flag. Most of the bridge crew did not truly know to whom they paid homage, yet they had all come, donned in their dress uniforms, and stood erect, looking respectfully solemn. Lieutenant Mallory stood at the Captain's side, his face white and tear-streaked.

Captain Kirk said some words. They were fairly neutral, and Spock knew they expressed very little of what the Captain actually felt. But, despite the fact that Jim could be very free with his friendship and his emotions, he also had a side that was private, sheltered. He rarely spoke of his past, and Spock had the distinct impression that Jim had striven hard to forget it.

The funeral was brief. The coffin was shot into space; through a little viewscreen, they could see it streaking into the darkness like a miniature satellite.

Fifteen minutes later they were back on the bridge, dressed in their regular uniforms. Captain Kirk's face was set as he settled down in his chair.

"Mr. Sulu, take us out of orbit," he ordered, then he turned to Spock. "Mr. Spock, can we anticipate their heading?"

Spock bent over his station and plotted in a few coordinates. "The nearest sign of life to this Space Station is a small, mountainous planet called Silicah VI. I cannot predict with any degree of precision where the attackers might have gone. However, the pleasure they apparently take in destruction might make it reasonable to assume they would seek out other life forms to destroy. This is, naturally, purely conjecture."

"It's the best guess we've got," the Captain said curtly. "Plot in a course for Silicah VI, Mr. Sulu. Warp five. Maybe our scanners will be able to pick up a trail when we have put some distance between us and the Starbase."

He directed the last comment at Spock, who nodded.

"How long to the planet?" the Captain inquired, once the Enterprise was on course.

"Eleven hours, present speed," Mr. Sulu replied.

* * *

><p>It was two hours later that a knock on the door of Spock's quarters caused him to break his meditation and rise. His voice command opened the door, and Captain Kirk stepped inside. He cast a glance around the room before turning an apologetic face towards Spock.<p>

"I've interrupted you," he said. "I'm sorry."

Spock hastily shook his head. "It is quite alright, Captain." Truthfully, Captain Kirk could have timed his visit somewhat better, especially given that Spock had, just at that moment, been attempting to re-distance himself from his attachment to Jim. However, he did not feel that the time was right to point this out. He highly doubted whether _any_ time would ever be the right time to point it out. Hopefully, he would someday succeed in upholding the proud Vulcan tradition of emotional discipline.

Vulcans, after all, were supposed to be able to choose with whom they fell in love.

But Spock could not but acknowledge that, after all, he had already made his choice. That was precisely the problem.

Captain Kirk was looking at him with an expression Spock found it difficult to properly interpret. He simply stood there, silently, for a little while, before he spoke.

"Thank you, Spock."

Spock raised one eyebrow in a questioning expression which he knew to be somewhat less convincing than he would have desired. He knew precisely to what the Captain referred, but if he were to have any hope of maintaining his focus, he could not become excessively friendly now.

When Spock did not reply, Captain Kirk fixed him with a searching gaze and, after a short while, said, "The normal thing to say at a time such as this, tends to be _you're welcome_."

He flashed Spock that sideways grin the Vulcan found so irritatingly endearing. However, keeping his countenance as well as he could, and his tone as level as possible, he said,

"I would indeed make such a reply if I knew to what you referred."

The Captain heaved a sigh and shook his head, though the pleasing half-smile continued to play about his lips. He took a step closer to Spock, opened his mouth, and promptly closed it again. He appeared to consider his approach for a moment before speaking, and as he spoke, his lingering smile appeared to take on an air of quiet dejection.

"You persist in treating our friendship like something indecent, Spock," he said, and his directness struck Spock very forcefully, though the Vulcan made every attempt to hide his surprise. "You really helped me down there," the Captain proceeded to explain. "I don't know if you understand, but contact, the feeling that someone else is _there_, that you're not alone, especially when you're facing something terrible, is very important to humans … is very important to _me_."

Spock did not answer. He recognized the feeling of which Jim spoke all too well, loath though he would be to admit to such weakness out loud. He carefully regarded the Captain, who continued,

"I've never known you to …" He paused, seemed for a moment to contemplate his phrasing. "I've never known you to react to anything so … _intimately_. I know the physical proximity must have been … uncomfortable for you. I just wanted to let you know that I really appreciated it."

Spock knew he could not refrain from speaking any longer, though he feared what might happen if he opened his mouth. However, after a quiet moment, Spock, taking a deep, regulatory breath, and placing both hands securely behind his back, said,

"I am … glad to have been of assistance."

If Vulcans had had a tradition for slapping themselves, Spock might have chosen to do so now. His reply had been entirely inadequate, and, indeed, for a moment it looked as if the Captain were going to say something to that effect. However, after a moment of intense staring on both sides, the Captain straightened his back, and though his face remained open and neutral, his tone took on a coldness that made Spock feel as if something dark had slithered into the pit of his stomach.

"You performed your duty admirably, Mr. Spock."

He lingered for a moment, as if he hoped that Spock would say something more. When Spock remained still and silent, Jim turned and exited the room, leaving Spock with a deep sadness which was quite as discreditable as the happiness he had felt previously.

* * *

><p>Early the next morning, Spock reported for duty and found the Captain sitting tensely on the edge of his seat. One of the Ensigns, who had been on duty at the Science Station during the night, was bent over the scanner and was calling out readings at the top of his voice.<p>

"Strong traces of warp particles! Heading one-sixty-one mark four!"

Spock resisted the urge to bid the young ensign lower his voice as he moved over to his station. The Captain did not notice his presence until Spock had relieved the ensign and positioned himself in front of his scanner. At that point, the Captain, turning, possibly to see why the ceaseless flow of unnecessary information had stopped, met Spock's gaze with a small frown. No other sign from him betrayed their disagreement of the previous evening, but Spock still felt an irritating jolt in the region of his stomach as the Captain turned away.

Deciding to focus his attention in more useful places, Spock bent over his scanner. The traces of warp particles the ensign had been yelling about were indeed very clear. Repeating said information seemed, however, unnecessary. Spock, turning his eyes to his console, ran his fingers deftly across it, bringing up the night's log.

Skimming swiftly through it and learning the discoveries of the night, which, apart from the fact that they appeared to be heading in the right direction, had not been extensive, he then proceeded to recalibrate the scanner. He focused it first on their immediate position, then he widened the scope as far as his equipment would allow. Consistently altering focus, Spock was able to receive a wide range of readings, though few of them indicated much with regard to the space craft they were pursuing.

It was not until their destination was a mere hour away that Spock's continuous scanning yielded any useful results. He checked them three times to be quite certain his scanner was not malfunctioning, then, with a pronounced frown on his face, he straightened up.

Perhaps because Spock had remained in the same position for close to two hours now, his movement immediately caught the attention of Captain Kirk, who turned to him with an expectant expression which, upon seeing the somber look on Spock's face, quickly turned to one of trepidation.

"What is it?" he said quietly.

"The scanner is picking up strong traces of antiprotons, Captain," Spock responded.

Several of the Bridge crew halted in their tasks and turned to face him. Spock's eye was immediately caught by Lieutenant Uhura, who had become very pale, her lips pressed together so tightly that all their color seemed for a moment to have evaporated.

Ensign Chekov was the first to speak. "Antiprotons?" he echoed softly, then his shook his head meaningfully. "This is not good."

Lieutenant Sulu, who had been staring out of the viewscreen with a slightly dazed expression, turned to the Ensign and frowned.

"Really?" he said, with a hint of something Spock thought he recognized as sarcasm. "Because generally I find antiprotons very entertaining."

"Antiprotons?" came a voice from the vicinity of the turbolift. Unnoticed by the rest of them, Cadet Christopher had made his way onto the Bridge, and now stood looking at them all with a curious expression. "Is that some new mortal peril we're facing?" He sounded supremely unconcerned, and Spock did not know whether he was being courageous or simply very foolish.

Captain Kirk turned to the Cadet with a patient expression. "A concentrated beam of antiprotons makes a very powerful weapon," he explained, and Spock thought he sounded a little strained. "They're also notoriously unstable."

"So we think the crazy bastards who attacked the Starbase were using this … antiproton-thing?" the Cadet asked.

"Given the nature and magnitude of the damages, it seems logical," Spock replied stiffly, finding that he was not quite able to meet the Cadet's gaze.

Cadet Christopher looked at him for a moment, then he shrugged. "Great," he said, with a surprisingly nonchalant tone. He moved over to stand next to the Captain, and although he was perfectly aware of how illogical it was, given their present situation, Spock could not help but feel an intense surge of hatred for him. Aware that his negative emotions might be apparent on his face, he turned away to hide his discomposure.

As the rest of the Bridge crew continued to discuss the new development, Spock focused on his scanner, attempting to distance himself from them. While he carried on with his work, he considered his present situation. Thoughts he had been striving to repress flowed uncontrolled through his mind.

He could not continue in this manner. His persistent emotional discord was not only shameful, was not only distracting to him, it was confusing and frustrating, both to himself, and to his shipmates. Particularly to Jim.

Though Spock kept his back decisively turned and cold, the Captain's face still swam, unbidden, to the fore of his mind. He grimaced faintly. For one moment, then, he allowed himself to feel, completely.

Spock loved Jim. He had loved Jim since he had know him. He had attempted to overcome what he had vainly tried to dismiss as a passing attraction, a desire for friendship, for contact he had denied himself for so long, but the cold reality was that Spock, upon looking back, could see that _those_ particular needs were not unique to this situation; he had felt them many times before. What he felt now, the warmth that ran through his veins to the very tips of his fingers when Jim smiled, the intense desire he had that Jim should be happy, and safe, the realization that he would do almost anything to secure these things for his friend, none of this could be compared to his earlier sensations.

What, then, was he to do? He knew he could not liberate himself from his attachment. He had tried, again and again, and it was quite obvious that he would not succeed. There was something within him that seemed indissolubly linked with Jim, and, though he had wished to avoid this conclusion indefinitely, he could not but realize that the one way he might be able to distance himself from his friend, would be to do so literally.

Something within Spock screamed with unhappiness. The inevitable solution was not satisfactory, could not be considered, but the other thing, the unthinkable thing, the thing of which he dreamed, for which he yearned, seemed so completely out of his grasp that it was illogical even to allow the thought to pass through his mind. Jim would never …

Had Vulcans had a tradition for cursing, Spock might have chosen this moment to utilize some choice words to express his frustration. As it were, he simply took a deep breath, and finally allowed the logical answer to wash over him with its dark, unwanted truth:

He would have to leave the ship.

Spock closed his eyes, shutting them tightly. He remained in that attitude for a few seconds before opening his eyes and, drawing a shaky breath, refocusing on his scanner.

"How much time left until we reach the planet?" came the Captain's voice, as if from far away.

Spock, with some effort, regained his composure and turned around.

"Five minutes now, Captain," Lieutenant Sulu replied.

"Anything on the scanner, Spock?"

"Nothing of interest, Captain," Spock answered, his voice unusually coarse. He swallowed before continuing. "The traces of antiprotons remain, but there is no disturbance here reminiscent of that surrounding the Starbase. There is no sign of alien vessels, though there are, as expected, clear life signs from the planet."

Captain Kirk frowned slightly. "Do we know anything about the Silicans?" he asked.

Spock ran his hands briefly across his console and brought up the information they had on the planet.

"The Federation has had very little contact with Silicah VI, though the creatures who live here are described as peaceful, creative, and friendly, as long as their customs are not disrespected. They are short in stature, their height ranging from approximately one meter to one meter and thirty centimeters. It is written here that they are close to humanoid in appearance, though they have copious amounts of hair covering their bodies, resembling fur, which serves as insulation against the harsh climates of their world."

"Silicah VI is a relatively unstable planet, isn't it?" the Captain asked, still frowning.

"Correct," Spock answered. "Earthquakes and similar natural phenomena are frequent. The Silicans have apparently developed methods of building which protect them against this as well – it is written in an attached log that a ship called the Excalibur visited this planet many years ago to explore the Silicans' methods of sturdy construction."

Captain Kirk frowned. "But this race is pre-warp core, right?"

Spock inclined his head. "Yes, Captain. The Excalibur should not have made contact with the Silicans" – he surveyed the report – "however, an error was made. The First Officer, who was, apparently, the first to beam down to the planet, was not sufficiently careful, and immediately attracted the Silicans' attention. The Federation has monitored the planet closely since then. We are, naturally, not permitted to in any way alter the Silicans' life style or provide unnecessary information, but given the situation, it seems that we must make contact."

Captain Kirk nodded. "Letting them get attacked by some belligerent alien race hardly seems productive towards the goal of maintaining their present way of life."

"Precisely," Spock concurred.

Captain Kirk rose from his seat and walked over to Spock, who felt his shoulders tense involuntarily.

"How about the enemy ship? Any signs of it?" he asked, taking a moment to glance over Spock's shoulder.

Had any other officer acted in such a way, Spock would immediately have informed him that he was quite capable of performing his function adequately, and did not require any added surveillance. However, knowing Jim, he knew that the Captain did not wish to question his aptitude, but merely had a desire to be involved in all the processes aboard his vessel. It was one of the qualities that made him such an excellent Captain.

Spock tried not to think about that.

"There is no trace that I can discern at present," was his reply. "I have widened the sensor's scope as far as its range allows, and have not been able to find anything which would indicate the presence of another vessel."

"Is it likely that it would have stopped here?"

Spock considered for a moment. "I could not say with any degree of certainty," he answered, "however, the traces of activity we have been monitoring since we left Starbase 15 are no stronger here than they were an hour ago, or more."

"What if they're just lurking out of sight?" Cadet Christopher asked suddenly.

Spock did not deign to look at him. "We must, naturally, be prepared for an attack, however, I know the Captain has already made the necessary arrangements for such an eventuality."

Captain Kirk nodded his confirmation of this, and the Cadet, towards whom Spock shot a very brief glance, seemed to find this adequate, for he shrugged once more, and, as had become his custom, moved over to the Communications Station, where Lieutenant Uhura was listening intently for any disturbance on the radio frequencies. Captain Kirk followed the Cadet's progress.

"Anything unusual, Uhura?"

The Lieutenant turned and shook her head, slowly. "Everything seems normal, Captain," she replied.

Captain Kirk turned towards the viewscreen and heaved a sigh. "Well, it seems like the coast is clear then," he said. "For now," he added in an undertone that Spock did not fail to perceive. He met the Captain's eyes and raised his eyebrow.

"Take her into orbit, Mr. Sulu," Captain Kirk proceeded to order, "and make sure you keep your eyes peeled for any sign of enemy activity, all of you."

He moved over to his chair and sat down, pressing the button for the intercom. "Scotty," he said.

The reply came instantly. "Yes, Sir."

"I need you on the Bridge."

"Aye."

Ten minutes later, the Enterprise safely in orbit and Mr. Scott in control on the Bridge, the Captain, Spock, Lieutenant Uhura, Cadet Christopher, Doctor McCoy and three security personnel stood in the transporter room ready to beam down. Captain Kirk had insisted on bringing the Cadet along. Spock had chosen not to argue the point, though he did not see how Cadet Christopher could possibly be of any assistance on the planet. Now he and the Captain stood side by side on the transporter pad, and Spock was making every attempt not to resent the situation.

It was challenging.

They beamed down to the planet surface, all of them sporting jackets to protect them from the harsh winds that so often tore across the face of Silicah VI. Despite the gale that nearly knocked several people over as they materialized, the temperature on the planet could easily have been much worse.

Spock cast a quick glance around and assessed his surroundings. They had transported onto a stretch of uncharacteristically even ground; mountains surrounded the area on almost all sides, excepting straight ahead, where a relatively large number of dwellings were apparent, behind what appeared to be a low, stone wall. There was a path before them which led to a set of sturdy gates. The Captain immediately headed for this fixture. They had elected to transport to a location on the outskirts of the town, as the Silicans, who did not have technology sufficiently advanced to allow for radio contact, might find their sudden appearance discourteous. They would approach the gates like any other visitor, and hope that the Silicans would consent to meet with them and respond to their queries.

It did not take the party long to reach the gates, which appeared to be made of a particularly pliable form of wood; the entranceway was convex, bent outwards, as were the walls which were connected to this fixture The group halted outside this form, looking around for signs of inhabitants. The area seemed strangely deserted. The crewmen looked at each other for a moment, then Captain Kirk stepped forward, raised a fist and rapped the door with his knuckles. The result was not the sharp noise one tends to expect when something relatively hard makes contact with wood, but rather, a muffled thudding sound. Spock, intrigued, moved forwards to place his hand on the door. He raised his eyebrow. It was remarkably soft.

"Fascinating," he said, turning to the Captain, who acknowledged this with a shrug indicative of bemusement.

Cadet Christopher also stepped forwards and placed his hand against the door, pushing against it slightly.

"Huh," he said. "Kind of like rubber. Only harder."

"Rubber?" Lieutenant Uhura asked, with a small frown.

Cadet Christopher raised his eyebrows. "So you don't use rubber anymore?" No one replied. "Huh," the Cadet said again. Spock wondered whether something was hindering his airways. "It's a kind of ... material," he proceeded to explain. "It was used on Earth ... well, in my time, anyway. It's very elastic, and it's kind of soft and hard at the same time."

"Are you saying this is the same thing?" Captain Kirk inquired.

Cadet Christopher shook his head. "No, this feels different."

"Then your information is hardly relevant," Spock said curtly. The Captain flashed him an expression which seemed to indicate that he was not pleased. Spock could not muster the energy to look, or feel, apologetic, so he simply turned away.

A few seconds passed in tense silence, then the Captain raised his fist and knocked on the gate once more, more forcefully now.

This time, a strange grinding noise was immediately heard from within, and a moment later the entranceway opened slowly.

A small, furry creature with a nose like a snout, big, green eyes and a mouth full of brilliantly white teeth stepped out, followed by half a dozen others, all of different colors and sizes. Some of them, indeed, were quite tall compared to the description the Enterprise database had provided, though none of them rose above one hundred and fifty centimeters. Their fur, for fur Spock would term it, ranged in color from almost jet black to a pale tan. All of them, however, had the same, green eyes.

As they stepped out of the gate one by one, they eyed their visitors with what might have been expressions of curiosity an d surprise, though as they appeared naturally wide-eyed, it was very difficult to properly tell. When the Silicans' eyes had roamed over all the crewmen, they lowered their shoulders and bared their teeth in what might have been a smile, or an expression of hostility. Once more, it was very difficult to discern the difference. When one of them came over and stretched out his hand, however, it seemed their inclinations were friendly.

Captain Kirk immediately greeted the Silican, pressing the proffered hand gently.

"I am Captain James T. Kirk," he said.

The Silican scratched his head and wrinkled his brow. Captain Kirk turned to Lieutenant Uhura.

"Did you bring the universal translator?" he asked, extending his hand towards her. The Lieutenant placed the desired instrument in his palm, and Captain Kirk, hastily turning it on and adjusting a few settings, held it out before him and made a second attempt at communication.

"I am Captain James T. Kirk," he said again, and an unfamiliar language, brief and melodious, flowed from the translator.

The affect on the Silicans was instantaneous. Looking around at each other, they began to murmur excitedly in their own tongue, before the leader, or spokesperson, turned back to Kirk, who kept the translator positioned between them.

"Greetings, Captain James T. Kirk," the Silican said, pronouncing the Captain's name with surprising fluidity. "Welcome to Silicah. I am Teli, and these are my friends, Chuta, Renn, Sokor, Bendi and Hargo." He indicated his comrades.

Though the English translation flowed unhampered from the device they had brought, Spock found it fascinating to listen to the tonality of the Silican language. It was so graceful, it sounded almost like singing. Spock found this highly intriguing. Upon first beholding them, he had not expected to hear such a tuneful language. A growl would have met his expectations much more closely.

"Thank you, Teli," Captain Kirk said, with a smile.

Teli surveyed him for a moment. "Where do you and your friends come from?" he said. "You are not from this world."

The last part was spoken as a statement, and indicated that the Silicans were, as expected, not unfamiliar with space travel, despite the fact that their technology had yet to take them beyond their own planet.

Captain Kirk shook his head. "We arrived on a space craft," he said honestly. "We have come here because we are pursuing another vessel which destroyed one of our starbases and killed a lot of people. Has any such craft passed by here? Have any of your people been attacked?"

Teli shook his head, but then he turned, and the low, humming murmur ensued as he hastily conferred with his comrades. This conference lasted a little in excess of one minute, then Teli turned back to Captain Kirk, his furry brow drawn.

"What kind of _space craft_" – he pronounced the words, which apparently had no equivalent in the Silican tongue, in melodious Standard, mimicking the Captain's intonation – "is it that you are chasing? Who are the creatures that you pursue?"

Captain Kirk shook his head slightly. "We don't know," he admitted. "We are trying to find out."

"What do you mean to do with them, if you find them?" Teli continued, a hesitant note in his sing-song voice.

"We want to know why they killed our people," Captain Kirk replied evenly. "And we need to find out if they mean to continue with their destruction. If so, we have no choice but to neutralize them."

"Neutralize …" Teli's mouth formed the English word, his expression pensive, or so it appeared.

A moment later, he had once more turned to his friends. A slightly longer period of murmured conference ensued. The landing party waited patiently. Finally, Teli turned back to them, and, with a furry arm, motioned for them to follow him into the city.

"This is Tanderra," he said as they passed through the gates, and Spock, upon entrance, was instantly surprised at the city's size. For Tanderra had not appeared large when viewed at a distance, but the space between the various structures, and the lack of sizeable fixtures, had belied its magnitude.

The houses were stone, their walls convex, just as the walls surrounding the city. The coloring was mainly brown and grey, interspersed with some white here and there. They headed towards one such white building, slightly larger than the others, with thick, black doors.

Spock expected Teli to lead them through the doors, but instead he raised a hand and pressed it to a small protrusion on the left side of the door. Spock conjectured this must be some sort of calling device, or doorbell. Right enough, a moment later the door opened, and a particularly shaggy Silican appeared on the other side of it. He looked very aged, though Spock thought this might be mainly due to his fur, which was the color of granite, and looked worn.

Teli and the other Silicans instantly sank into bows of deference, and the landing party, glancing quickly at each other, wordlessly followed the natives' example. It would not do to offend these creatures now.

Having shown his respect, Teli straightened up and once more, the strange, musical language flowed in great speed from his mouth, his arms gesticulating as he indicated in turn himself and his comrades, the Enterprise landing party, the sky, the mountains, and many other things Spock could not hope to comprehend. At the end of his monologue, Teli turned to the group of humans and motioned towards the translator, which Captain Kirk still held firmly in his hand. The Captain, understanding, held it forwards, and the grey Silican stepped forwards, with halting steps. Apparently he did not only appear aged.

He stopped in front of the Captain and peered up into his face. He seemed to scrutinize the human for a while, then he said,

"I am Lendori." His voice, too, seemed cracked and faded. "I am the Prime Functionary of Tanderra."

Captain Kirk inclined his head respectfully. "I am Captain James Kirk, of the starship Enterprise. We belong to the United Federation of Planets."

Lendori appeared familiar with this name. After a moment's pause, he said, "You have visited our planet before."

The Captain nodded. "Yes," he said. "In our databases it says that the vessel Excalibur stopped by your planet on the way to an assignment in the outer regions approximately fifteen years ago."

Lendori nodded gravely. Captain Kirk frowned.

"Did they behave inappropriately?" he asked.

Lendori immediately shook his head. "No, not at all," he answered. "We are simply not used to visitors from quite so far away."

His eyes fixed on the Captain's again, and Captain Kirk asked, "Have you had any visitors lately, apart from us?"

Once more, Lendori shook his head. "None that have come here, to visit with us." He paused for a moment, and his eyes found the tall range of mountains, easily visible beyond the stone wall which surrounded Tanderra. He raised an arm and pointed, with a strangely long finger, towards a point on the far horizon.

"There was something, yesterday," he continued. "We did not think much of it, because this planet is a very restless one. Almost every day, there are natural occurrences such as earthquakes and tremors, strong winds that rip and tear at the landscape, storms, avalanches ..." He trailed off for a moment, his hand still suspended in mid-air, though it was curious for Spock to see how little these natural catastrophes seemed to bother Lendori. It was apparent that it was such a normal part of everyday life, that he and his fellow Silicans had long since ceased to think of them as an inconvenience. "As I was saying," he recommenced, "yesterday, there was an avalanche close to one of our smaller peaks. Some watchmen who were on duty at the time thought they saw something crash into the peak before the avalanche. According to Teli, these creatures you seek are very violent. We do not want violence here. Nature gives us quite enough."

They all listened to this with rapt interest, and as Lendori finished, the crew looked around at each other with similar frowns on their faces. Spock thought he could, for once, divine their thoughts: this incident with the mountain could simply be one of many natural catastrophes on Silicah VI, or it could be a sign that the aliens they persecuted were not far away. Spock could not fathom why they would fire upon a single mountain in that fashion, but he nevertheless found the event worthy of investigation.

Captain Kirk seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion. "Is there someone who can take us up that mountain?" he asked. "Is it possible to climb?"

Lendori nodded. "There are stairs, hewn into the rock. They are steep, especially for our race, but they are quite possible to climb, yes."

The Captain's eyebrows rose. "_That_ particular mountain has stairs?" he said, surprised. "That's quite a coincidence."

Lendori shook his head. "Not a coincidence," he said. "There are many of the smaller peaks that have been made more easily accessible to those who wish to climb them. This planet, as you have no doubt seen, is rich in mountains, and climbing them is a favorite pastime for those who are daring enough to venture out."

Captain Kirk took a moment to glance behind him at the jagged rocks which stretched towards the sky, looking rather more foreboding than inviting. With a look of hesitant resignation, he turned back to Lendori.

"We will go up there and see if we find any evidence of an attack," he said. "Is there someone who can guide us?"

It was Teli who immediately spoke up. "Gorgon," he said. "I will fetch him."

And without further incitement, he ran off into the city with surprising speed and dexterity. The Captain met Spock's gaze and they exchanged a silent expression of intrigue.

It did not take Teli more than five minutes to return to them, and when he did, another Silican was speeding along behind him. This one was taller, the tallest of his kind they had seen up to this point, nearing the height of a slightly short human female. His fur was jet black, and shorter than that of the others. His manner was brusque as he stepped up to Lendori and made a curt, stiff bow, which seemed to convey the required respect despite its brevity. Having done so, he spoke a few words softly in Silican, to which Lendori replied swiftly. Gorgon, for Spock assumed this must be the aforementioned guide, then turned to the Enterprise party.

"I am Gorgon," he said, confirming Spock's assumptions. "You need a guide to the peak. I will take you."

Though this Silican's speech was as melodious as the others', his tone was evidently more commanding. The Captain, apparently unaffected by this, nodded and stretched out his hand, which Gorgon, after a moment's scrutiny of the proffered limb, took with a slight inclination of his head.

"James T. Kirk," Captain Kirk said. "Captain of the starship Enterprise. We are grateful to you for your help."

Gorgon shook his head. "We do not like hostility," he said frankly. "If creatures are causing death and destruction, we do not want them here. We are helping each other."

Captain Kirk inclined his head with a smile.

"Do you wish to go immediately?" Gorgon asked, wasting no time.

The Captain nodded. "I think the sooner we go, the better, so, yes, if it's possible."

"If it were not, I would not have offered," Gorgon replied curtly.

Spock raised his eyebrows, and the Captain looked momentarily taken aback, as if he could not quite decide if he were being rebuked or not. Then, apparently deciding that it did not really make much difference, he said,

"Excellent. We'll get started immediately then."

Without further preamble, they took their leave of the Prime Functionary and Teli and his comrades, and Gorgon led them briskly out of the city and down the road whence they had come.

The walk to the base of the mountain took approximately one hour and four minutes. Once there, Gorgon offered them some advice before they began the climb. The steps were broad and tall, and ascending them would be a strenuous task, particularly for the humans, whose bodies would tire more quickly the thinner the amount of oxygen in the surrounding air became. Gorgon warned them to keep to the middle of the stairs and that they should move slowly and stay closely together, as rumblings and movements in the mountains were almost guaranteed to make them lose their footing, were they not sufficiently careful, and prepared.

Captain Kirk had contacted the Enterprise when they began their trek to the mountain, and now he once more flipped open his communicator and signaled Commander Scott.

"Kirk to Bridge. Scotty, this is the Captain."

"Aye, Sir," replied the Scotsman cheerily.

"Is everything still good up there?"

"Nothin' out of the ordinary, Sir," Mr. Scott replied. "We're still runnin' regular scans, and we're not picking up any other vessels."

"Alright, Scotty. We're about to climb a mountain down here, so we probably won't check back for a while. Let me know the moment anything happens."

There was a small pause.

"You're climbing a mountain?" Mr. Scott said, sounding bemused.

"Yes, Scotty, we're climbing a mountain," the Captain replied.

Another pause.

"Did you … feel like a hike?"

The Captain let out a short laugh. "No, Scotty, we think there might be something up there. We just need to check it out."

"Ah," was the Scotsman's reply. "Right then. I'll let you know if anything changes up here. Have a … good climb."

Captain Kirk chortled. "Thank you, Scotty. Kirk out. Alright," he said, turning to the rest of the group. "Let's do this."

Gorgon motioned for them to follow him, and they began their climb. It was slow progress, the promised rumblings and shakings making every step treacherous. About halfway up there was a small plateau on which they stopped for a fifteen minute respite. Spock still retained quite a lot of energy, but many of the humans were becoming rather tired. Captain Kirk was leaning against the rock face, his eyes closed. Lieutenant Uhura had sat down on one of the steps. One of the security officers, a slightly heavyset man, was panting and stood bent over, leaning his hands on his thighs.

Cadet Christopher, on the other hand, was surprisingly buoyant. He all but bounced over to Captain Kirk, and for some unfathomable reason, poked the Captain in the arm. The Cadet had a ridiculous grin on his face as the Captain opened his eyes and regarded him with a slightly exasperated expression.

"Tired?" Cadet Christopher chirped.

Captain Kirk raised his hand, and for a moment, Spock thought he was going to make a very rude hand gesture, but instead, he placed the hand against the Cadet's chest and pushed him back roughly.

"I'm fine," he said sourly, but his eyes seemed to twinkle.

Spock did not like it.

"Looks like someone needs to walk some stairs," Cadet Christopher said tauntingly. He seemed far too pleased with himself. Spock had an intense urge to exert physical violence upon his smug face. He swiftly quelled that urge.

Captain Kirk sent the Cadet an exasperated smile. "By all means, laugh it up," he said. "It might provoke me to say something about your own performance in … other places."

Cadet Christopher's face became bright red, and the corners of Captain Kirk's mouth turned up in a satisfied smirk.

Spock felt his insides boil, and he placed his hands, which were suddenly shaking, securely behind his back before turning away and moving over to Lieutenant Uhura.

"Are you alright, Lieutenant?" he said, and, thankfully, his voice was not shaking quite as much as his hands.

The Lieutenant looked up and him and smiled. "Oh, I'm fine, Mr. Spock. I'm just not used to climbing. I don't suppose you feel this much?"

Spock hesitated for a moment. "My physical exertion has not been great, no."

Lieutenant Uhura regarded him quietly. For some reason, she glanced over at the Captain and Cadet Christopher, who were now laughing over some unknowable topic. She sighed. There was silence between them for quite some time. Finally, the Lieutenant, looking at Spock with an unreadable expression, said,

"Sometimes it takes a little while for people to realize what they want."

Spock frowned, but Lieutenant Uhura did not offer an explanation. She simply got up, and, smiling faintly, put a gentle hand on his arm before moving away. Spock turned to watch her go with the frown still etched on his face.

They proceeded with the ascension shortly after, and when they finally reached the top, even Spock felt that had he had a little less pride in his Vulcan constitution, he should very much have liked to sit down. As it were, he stepped onto the wide plateau which constituted the so-called peak of the mountain, and his attention was immediately drawn towards the center, where there was something black and indefinable lying motionless on the rock.

He moved swiftly over to the spot and discovered that it was a kind of capsule. It was tiny and burnt, but relatively intact. Taking his tricorder in his hands, he scanned the item, which turned out to be empty. Hollow, but empty. It was, in fact, thoroughly unremarkable, fabricated from a standard metal alloy and bearing no sign or symbol which could in any way distinguish it.

Captain Kirk, breathing rather heavily, came up behind him and took a look at the unknown object.

"Any idea what it is?" he asked.

"It is a capsule of some sort, or, it has the standard build of a capsule," Spock replied somewhat coldly – he had not yet managed to suppress his previous negative feelings towards Jim. "However, it appears to be empty."

"Empty," the Captain echoed vaguely. "Wonderful. Why is it here?"

Spock, unable to restrain himself, answered, "I will grant that my powers of deduction are somewhat above average. However, it is farfetched to believe that I can tell the origin or nature of an object merely by looking at it."

Captain Kirk raised his eyebrows. He took a moment to respond, apparently slightly taken aback. "I meant to ask you if you had any ideas, any conjectures," he said quietly.

"I have none," Spock replied shortly.

The Captain frowned. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that point, Lieutenant Uhura came over to them and, pointing towards the edge of the plateau, said,

"There are some kind of markings around the edge – they look like they were burned in there."

Spock looked at her. She anticipated his question:

"I can't tell what might have made them. It's not a language I'm familiar with."

Captain Kirk turned and applied to Gorgon, but these markings were not known to him either. He had been on this peak many times before, and he assured the crew that the markings must be quite new. Nor were the symbols such that he recognized them.

"We need to get readings on these," Captain Kirk said then. "Mr. Spock, would you take that side, please?"

Spock looked the Captain and raised his eyebrows. This was such an uncommonly polite request that Spock quite forgot to be irritated. It was evident that Jim was trying very hard to be peaceable. Spock felt his shoulders relax minutely. He could not be angry with Jim. It was not beneficial to anyone.

Allowing his face to relax, he inclined his head and moved over to his allotted place. He cast a brief glance backwards and saw that Jim was following his progress.

Once at the edge, Spock, keeping well back from the actual precipice, used his tricorder to scan the unknown symbols. His readings showed little other than that fierce heat had been applied. This he could have recognized without the use of technology; burning symbols of this size and clarity into solid rock required more than a set of matchsticks.

He decided he should attempt to take a sample with him. Perhaps more could be discovered on the superior computer onboard the Enterprise. He turned so that his back faced the cliff edge, and bent down just as a bright beam, unremarked by him, flashed overhead.

Spock, intent on his task, did not register the shock until, with a nasty jolt, he felt himself tossed violently backwards. His hand closed uselessly around thin air as his body arched over the precipice. For one, time-stopping moment, his eyes found Jim's, locking on to them with a kind of blank hopelessness. With a rush of affection for him, Spock saw the Captain start forwards, his limbs moving more swiftly than Spock had ever witnessed, his eyes full of the knowledge that his quick pace would not suffice. They were too far apart.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So there's a literal cliffhanger for you this time. You're welcome.

As always, the next chapter will be up next Friday. Only two more chapters to go now before my summer break, during which, hopefully, I'll have lots of inspiration and lots of time for writing.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** So, I left you with a literal cliffhanger last week. Let's see how that works out.

As always, my trusty beta Judin is all-glorious and friggin' fantabulous.

* * *

><p>The world seemed to move in slow motion as Kirk flung himself towards the edge of the cliff. The blast of energy that had nearly blown them all into oblivion didn't matter. In his head, a steady mantra of <em>no, no, no, no, no, no<em> was looping ceaselessly. He watched Spock fall helplessly over the rock face, and felt something tear within him, like a rift in space. Kirk would be too late, he had not been close enough, he couldn't …

There was a deep, plunging sensation as Spock disappeared beyond the visible line of rock. Kirk did not slacken his pace. He flew forwards, the wind furious against his face, and he dropped to his knees by the precipice, and felt his heart sink.

Then it swelled. A hand. One, strong, Vulcan hand, clinging to the rock with all its might. Moving forwards swiftly, Kirk peered over the edge, and Spock was still there, grasping the rock with all his remaining force. Without wasting any time, Kirk threw himself down on his front and stretched out his hand.

"Spock," he said, his voice breathless and shaky. "Take my hand."

For one, small moment, Spock glared at the extended limb as if it had offended him. Then he reached with his free hand, and grabbed Kirk's.

Immediately and without warning, Kirk felt an intense heat flow up the length of his arm, and he was sure his face had gone bright red. He didn't waste any time pondering this, but instantly started pulling Spock to safety, Spock assisting with the hand that grasped the rock. The muscles in Kirk's arms worked furiously. He heard several sets of footsteps running towards them, but Spock's torso was already above the line. Kirk gave one, final heave, and the two men fell back on level ground, Kirk panting heavily, Spock's chest rising and sinking rapidly, though he made no sound.

They didn't have much time to catch their breath. Another blast of light issued from somewhere above them, and they were all hurled in different directions. By some miracle, no one was flung over the precipice, though Lieutenant Uhura had screamed in pain as a part of the beam had hit her arm. Kirk, jumping to his feet as quickly as he could, raced over to her where she sat crumpled on the rock, cradling her arm, her breathing ragged.

"BONES!" Kirk yelled at the top of his lungs. Dust and debris was settling in the air around them as quickly as a sudden sandstorm, and it was becoming impossible to see more than three feet in front of one's face.

Bones did not reply, and Kirk felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, followed by a jolt of panic as a third blast hit the ground and made it shake with the force of an earthquake. He clung to Uhura, shielding her as best he could, but they needed to get down from the mountain somehow and Kirk could hardly tell up from down at the moment. He was still reeling from the sight of Spock tumbling off the cliff, and the thought that he had so very nearly lost his friend was making him feel clammy and nauseated.

He took another look around. The sun, which had been bright and cheerful mere minutes before had been blotted out by the fog of dust, and it felt like they were inside a dark and very brown cloud. He reached towards his belt for his communicator, only to discover that it wasn't there. Kirk swore inwardly and tried to make another assessment of his surroundings, but it was completely impossible. His communicator was nowhere near him, and there was absolutely no chance of finding it as long as visibility was so bad.

"Lieutenant, do you have your communicator?" he asked hurriedly.

Uhura made an indistinct noise. Kirk turned and took a quick look at her belt. Her communicator still hung onto it, and, wasting no time, Kirk snatched it up and flipped it open, only to find that it was completely dead. He couldn't get so much as a hint of static. Attaching it to his own belt with somewhat unnecessary gusto, Kirk swore under his breath.

He took a moment in an attempt at surveying his surroundings, then he let out a tense breath. He placed one hand firmly on the rock as if to assure himself that it was still there, then, gathering his thoughts and making a decision, he covered his mouth with his sleeve and started to inch forwards along the rocky ground, feeling his way with one hand as he held on to Uhura with the other.

"We need to move, Lieutenant," he half-coughed half-spoke as he all but dragged her along. She seemed on the verge of fainting. "Can you hear me?" He stopped for a moment and shook her slightly, then he placed one hand on her cheek. "Uhura?" he said again. "Uhura, we need to move."

Uhura finally responded. Her eyes fluttered open and she let out a small, pained breath.

"You'll be fine, just follow me," Kirk said, trying his best to sound reassuring, as opposed to how he felt: petrified and nonplussed.

Uhura didn't say anything, but she slowly started to shift her body in the direction Kirk indicated, and inch by inch, they made their way forwards.

"BONES!" Kirk yelled again, then, "SPOCK! GORGON!"

No one replied. Kirk's heart beat was increasing by the minute. He couldn't understand what had happened. Something, completely and literally out of the blue, had found their precise location and fired on it. Kirk did not have any doubts as to what that something was, but as to how they had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, he hadn't the faintest idea. Scotty was supposed to contact him if he noticed anything strange, and Kirk knew that there could only be two reasons Scotty would neglect that order. One, he had not been able to see the threat before it was too late. The second option Kirk couldn't think about right now. The Enterprise was fine. He had to believe they were all fine. He had to get his people off this rock. He had to beam back to his ship and see what the hell was going on.

Suddenly, from a little off to his right, he heard a heartwarmingly familiar voice calling, "Captain! Captain, are you alright?"

"Spock!" Kirk yelled, and soon the Vulcan came into view, a long gash across his forehead, though otherwise he seemed fine. Kirk was so inordinately happy to see him that he felt momentarily ashamed of himself. He could not be so thankful while several of his crew were still missing.

"Doctor McCoy is over here," Spock said immediately, pointing behind him. "He is unconscious, but his pulse is strong. He appears to have injured his head, but I do not believe his condition is critical." His eyes found the hunched-over form of Uhura. "Are you alright, Lieutenant?" he said.

Uhura, still clutching her arm, nodded. "It's just my arm," she said breathlessly.

Spock moved over to her and bid her hold out her arm. Kirk grimaced. There was a clean, round hole going straight through her forearm, which was bleeding profusely. Whatever that beam was, it had cut straight through tissue, muscle and bone without any difficulty. None of their phasers could cause damage that easily and that precisely.

"Antiproton beam," he said vaguely.

"I believe so," Spock replied.

Kirk looked at the wound again. It had to be bound up; Uhura was losing a lot of blood. As they didn't really have any bandages at the moment, Kirk's first thought was to use his shirt. He was just about to remove it when he noticed that Spock had already removed his, and was tearing it into appropriately sized pieces. He bound these tightly around Uhura's arm, several on top of each other, so that they would add pressure and hopefully control the bleeding.

It was so unusual to see Spock in the tight-fitting black t-shirt he wore under his uniform that for a split-second, Kirk forgot they were in the middle of a crisis and merely stared. Then he shook his head and stood up. There hadn't been another blast in a while, and, while they were tending to Uhura, some of the dense dust had started to lift; it was easier to see where they were going now, so they moved swiftly over to where McCoy was lying on the ground, and Kirk bent down next to him.

He was breathing evenly, though it proved impossible to wake him up. His medical supply kit must have been lost in one of the blasts, for it wasn't on him. Kirk looked up at Spock, who was regarding him calmly.

"Have you found the others?" Kirk said hopefully. "Gorgon? The security personnel?"

"I located one of the security team," Spock said, his voice indicating that the news wasn't good. "I believe his name is Jameson. It appears that he was thrown into a boulder; he is dead."

Kirk sighed. "And the others?"

"I have seen no others."

Kirk knew this could very well mean that the rest of the crew had been blasted off the mountain. He put that thought aside and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Ok, Spock," he said. "We have to get out of here. Do you have your communicator?"

The Vulcan instantly produced it, a small frown on his face. "It is not functioning at the moment."

Kirk let out a frustrated noise. "Uhura's isn't working either. Any indication why? Interference? Damage?"

"Interference seems the most likely alternative," Spock replied in his usual, calm voice. Kirk found it oddly soothing. "I believe our attackers are blocking the signal."

"Damn it," Kirk said softly. "We're just going to have to get off the mountain then. Away from the attack point."

"That seems to be the logical course of action," Spock agreed.

He immediately stooped down and gently lifted the still form of McCoy into his arms. He, Kirk and Uhura hurried towards the place where they had climbed up; they figured it was best to go down the same way.

Just as they were about to begin the descent, Gorgon came clambering up, wheezing and clutching his stomach as if he were in pain. He saw them and started to speak, but the translator had apparently also been lost. Kirk tried to indicate that he couldn't understand. Apparently Gorgon realized as much; he pointed to them, then to Uhura's injury, then downwards. He then motioned for them to follow him.

"Maybe there's someone else down there," Kirk said, hurrying after Gorgon.

"Alive or dead ..?" Uhura panted. It wasn't really a question. More a listing of options.

They moved after Gorgon as quickly as they could muster, but Spock's progress was slowed by the burden of Doctor McCoy, and Uhura was constantly hampered by her injury, which had not stopped bleeding, despite Spock's best efforts at tying it up. She was going gradually more and more white in the face, and Kirk kept close to her, afraid that she might suddenly faint.

They moved slowly down for about five minutes before Gorgon halted and pointed with one finger towards what appeared to be two human forms right below them. Kirk could not tell whether they were breathing or not.

Then and only then did Kirk, with a sudden and unpleasant jolt of horror, remember Christopher.

Without speaking a word, he rushed forwards, jumping down onto the lower level with such urgency that he nearly lost his balance. As he came closer, he saw that one of the bodies did indeed belong to the Cadet. Kirk uttered a small sound of panic and flung himself down next to Christopher. The Cadet was bleeding from a nasty cut on the right side of his head, and he was very pale. Kirk hardly dared breathe as he looked at the still, silent form. Then Christopher drew a barely audible breath.

Kirk could have cried out with relief. He lifted Christopher to a sitting position and gently tried to wake him, but he didn't stir. Kirk, his momentary relief washing away like an impatient tidal wave, hurriedly grasped the Cadet's wrist and carefully attempted to measure his pulse. He honestly couldn't tell if it was strong or weak.

"Damn it!" he said loudly, then, under his breath, "I'm a Captain, not a Doctor." He really needed Bones for this. But at least the pulse was there.

On the other side of the Cadet, the Security Officer, a man called Hoff, was starting to move.

"Mr. Hoff!" Kirk said sharply.

He didn't want to lay Christopher back down. But now the others, Spock in the lead, had reached him, and Gorgon hobbled over to Hoff and helped him to his feet. The man was slightly unsteady at first, but regained his equilibrium surprisingly quickly. His eyes found Kirk's.

"Taylor," he said somberly. "He fell. I think he's dead."

The mystery of the last Security Officer was solved. Kirk bowed his head, which suddenly felt very heavy.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

There was a short moment of silence. "We need to continue," Kirk said finally, and he, very carefully, lifted the Cadet to his feet, holding him up against his own body.

Kirk frowned then. Christopher was his own size. Loath though Kirk was to admit it, the Cadet would be too heavy for him to carry. He glanced at Hoff, who was a larger man than he was, but the Security Officer was still leaning heavily on Gorgon, all his weight on one foot; the other was very plainly swollen, and probably seriously sprained, if not broken. He would have trouble enough getting himself down the mountain in that condition.

"Damn it!" Kirk said for the third time, this time under his breath.

He looked at Spock, who had clearly already assessed the situation and come to the same conclusion. Looking uncharacteristically displeased, he gently set the Doctor down and moved over to Kirk, who didn't even have to ask the question.

"I will take him," Spock said resignedly.

Kirk, though he knew it had to be like this, hesitated. "Are you sure?"

Spock actually let out a frustrated sigh. "You know there is no other alternative," he said, plainly wishing that wasn't the case. "You can carry Doctor McCoy. He weighs very little, so I am sure you can manage it."

This spiteful mockery of his lesser physical strength would normally have infuriated Kirk, but somehow he felt Spock deserved to be a little rude right now. He knew the Vulcan had never liked Christopher, and that the forced closeness of carrying the Cadet would probably be nothing short of torturous for him.

"I'm sorry, Spock," Kirk said as Spock stepped forwards.

The Vulcan quickly made an assessment of the Cadet, probably checking for specific bruises or breaks, then he picked him up and slung him unceremoniously over his shoulder. Kirk let out a small sigh and went over and picked up Bones. He really was very light. It felt intensely strange to be carrying him around like this.

He turned to Spock again, who was already looking markedly more dissatisfied. Kirk grimaced.

"You're not going to ... throw him off a cliff, or anything, are you?" he said, with an actual hint of trepidation.

Spock raised one, supercilious eyebrow. "Captain, that is a highly illogical query," he said, with some coldness.

Kirk felt a little embarrassed. "I know," he said. "I didn't mean ... it's just that I know ... I know you don't like him very much."

Spock raised the other eyebrow, and merely looked at Kirk for what felt like a very long time. "I do not like him," Spock admitted finally. "That does not mean I wish to cause him physical harm." He frowned for a moment, as if considering something. Then, without further ado, he turned and started carrying Christopher down the mountain.

It took them more than four hours to reach the base of the mountain – Spock would probably have been more than happy to inform him of the precise amount of time they had spent, but Kirk, who was growing more panicky the more time they used, felt that an estimate was good enough for him. It then took them yet another hour to reach Tanderra. Kirk, who had taken Spock's communicator, checked the signal every fifteen minutes, but there was still no reception as they lumbered into Tanderra, exhausted and extremely anxious. Once there, another difficulty arose in the form of their missing translator.

Several Silicans, who had no doubt both seen, heard and felt the attack, came scurrying up to them as they arrived and immediately started chattering loudly in their own tongue. Kirk tried to tell them that he couldn't understand, but amidst the confusion, non-verbal communication turned out to be just about impossible. Luckily, Gorgon had quickly rid himself of the burden of Mr. Hoff, and hastily stepped forwards, hopefully to explain the situation.

The crew waited and watched as he gestured towards the mountain, towards them, the musical quality of the language very present despite the urgency of his tone. Teli, the Silican who had greeted them upon their arrival on the planet, was one of the listening party, and after a few minutes of explanations, he came up to the Enterprise crew with a kind look in his eye, and motioned for them to follow him. Gorgon, having apparently had enough of this business, tottered off looking distinctly careworn. The rest of the group of Silicans came with them; three of them crowded around the injured Security Officer, helping him along; one of the smaller ones hurried over to Uhura and placed a furry arm around her waist – Kirk was pretty sure this Silican was female. Her fur had a softer quality to it, and she wore something like a course, brown dress which fell to her knees. Uhura looked down at the furry creature and one corner of her mouth turned slightly upwards.

They moved slowly into the city, and before long, they stopped in front of one of the larger buildings, not tall, though pretty wide; it had a bluish-grey color, and a wide front door. Teli turned and pointed at their injured crew members, then at the building. Kirk understood. This must be a kind of hospital.

Intensely grateful, and growing very tired of carrying Bones, who was still lying limply in his arms, he moved up to the door, which Teli opened for him, and they all went inside.

The interior of the place was a light, grey color, surprisingly bright, and very clean. They were led into a large hall, where dozens of beds stood lined up against the walls on either side. All of them were currently empty, so either there were more beds other places in the building, or the Silicans were the healthiest people Kirk had ever met. Opposite to where they entered, at the other end of the room, there was an open door. Out of that door now came three Silicans, all dressed in identical, bluish-grey robes that seemed to echo the color of the building's exterior. These robes looked like a mix between dresses and aprons, and they were apparently considered to be unisex, for Kirk was quite sure that two of the three Silicans who now came towards them were male.

When they saw the injured people, they immediately started talking fast, both to each other, and to the party. Kirk looked at Teli, who nodded, and moved forwards. A few more moments of what Kirk assumed to be explaining took place, and then the hospital staff led them over to the four nearest beds, where Bones, Uhura, Christopher and Hoff were placed. The medics immediately began bustling about, finding equipment and making quick examinations of the injured humans. Apparently they were not used to getting this many patients all at once, for it seemed like the three Silicans who had initially shown up, comprised the entirety of the staff.

After their quick observations, they apparently decided that the Security Officer was the one least in need of immediate attention, and divided themselves between the other three after motioning for Hoff to lie down and rest himself. Kirk went over to him and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

"How are you doing?" he asked kindly.

Hoff gave him a half-smile. "Oh, I'm ok, Captain," he replied. "Better than the rest of my team." His smile disappeared, and his eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment.

"I am so sorry," Kirk said once more, squeezing the Security Officer's arm gently.

Hoff shook his head. "It was impossible to see anything," he said, his voice a little strained. "I didn't know where I was, or what had happened."

"None of us did," Kirk said quietly. "The attack took us by surprise. I just hope ..." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I just hope the Enterprise is unharmed."

Hoff nodded vaguely, and closed his eyes. Kirk left his side and moved over to Uhura, who was being patched up by one of the males, his large green eyes narrowed in concentration as he spread some dark purple paste over the hole in her arm, all the while mumbling to himself. Spock came over and asked the Lieutenant how she was doing. She looked faint, but she nodded and said she thought she would be alright. None of them knew what this purplish paste was supposed to do, but Uhura said that the pain was lessening. The bleeding also seemed to have stopped completely.

Kirk moved away again, and Spock followed him.

"They seem to know what they're doing, don't you think?" Kirk said, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice.

Spock glanced at Uhura. "I cannot say with any degree of accuracy, Captain," Spock replied. "Their medicine is evidently centuries away from what we are accustomed to."

Kirk knew Spock was right, and as he looked at Christopher, his insides squirmed unpleasantly; the Cadet was deathly pale and unmoving. His breathing had been growing more and more shallow as they had carried him down from the mountain, and whereas Bones had shown signs of movement and life in his unconsciousness, the Cadet had only grown cold and clammy, his heartbeat extremely weak.

Kirk, his body seeming to move automatically, walked over to him and placed a hand on his chest. It rose and sank, but irregularly. The female Silican was scurrying about around the still form, trying various medications and medical equipment, none of which seemed to be making any difference. Spock moved up next to Kirk.

"I do not believe that he will survive unless we find some method of returning him to the Enterprise," he said quietly, his voice compassionate, void of the dislike that had so often dominated his tone when he spoke to or of Christopher.

Kirk turned to him. He felt as if a dead weight had attached itself to his stomach and was pulling it gradually down towards the floor. Frustrated energy was building up within him, and he suddenly felt an intense urge to vent.

"Why don't you like him?" he snapped, narrowed eyes fixed on Spock, who raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback.

"I do not see how this is –" Spock started, but Kirk interrupted him.

"It isn't logical to just dislike someone," he said harshly, his annoyance and desperation finding a target and latching on to it. "You must have a reason. You're supposed to base your thoughts and actions on logic, aren't you?"

Spock looked vaguely irritated for a moment, but he quickly set his face in a neutral expression. "You are frightened," he stated plainly. "You are uneasy for your crew and your ship. I understand, Captain. However, it is not logical to vent your frustration on me."

Kirk was a little surprised at this reproof, but quickly recovered his faculties, the unjustness of Spock's statement stinging in his chest like a bad stitch.

"It's interesting that you should say that," he replied coldly, "because you've been doing it to me for many weeks now."

Spock once more faltered. He looked down for a moment, breathing slowly. Then he turned his eyes on Kirk, and Kirk was surprised to see an apologetic expression on his face.

"I am sorry," he said softly. "You are right. I have not been fair to you. But I do not wish to quarrel with you now."

He said this with such earnestness that Kirk felt his annoyance fizzle out. Spock was right. He and Kirk were the only two fully functioning crew members left on this planet; fighting amongst themselves was ridiculous.

"I'm sorry, Spock," he said tiredly. "We really don't seem to get along well these days, do we?"

Spock looked at him for a long moment, but said nothing. Kirk, feeling slightly uncomfortable all of a sudden, cleared his throat and turned his eyes towards Christopher. The female Silican was now talking to Teli, who had joined her at Christopher's side, in very high-pitched, fast tones. After a few moments she continued her work, and Teli turned to Kirk. He frowned and scratched his head, as if trying to decide how to attempt to communicate. Kirk pointed to Christopher, then made a slight questioning shrug of his shoulders. Body language really was the only way to go right now. Teli seemed to understand. He pointed to Christopher as well, then at his own head, screwing up his face as if he were in pain.

So the Cadet had injured his head. They had already surmised as much. Kirk nodded at the Silican. Teli proceeded to put his hands on either side of his head, then he drew the hands outwards, slowly. Kirk frowned. Teli pointed at Christopher, and repeated the sign he had just made.

"Outwards," Kirk said, more to himself than anything else. "Going outwards from the head. Or maybe it's the head that's going outwards – expanding? Head expanding?" He looked once more at Christopher. "No, his head looks the same." He had a sudden idea. "Growing larger as in … swelling? – swelling in the brain?"

Teli was looking at him expectantly, but Kirk was suddenly feeling faintly sick. If there was swelling in Christopher's brain, it might already be much too late. Even with their modern medical technology, brain damage was very difficult to rectify. Kirk racked his own brains, trying to think back to the elementary medical training he had had at the Academy, but he couldn't remember anything even remotely helpful. In any case, brain issues didn't exactly fit the category of "elementary". Why did McCoy have to get himself injured?

"Damn it Bones!" he said loudly.

"You really shouldn't swear at an injured man, Jim."

Kirk turned around so fast that his head spun. In the bed next to Christopher's, McCoy was lying with his eyes open, a tired smirk on his face. He made to get up, but was instantly pushed back down by a pair of furry hands. He frowned.

"What the devil is going on?" he said, the situation apparently catching up with him.

"You're in the hospital in Tanderra, Doctor," Spock replied. "You were injured on the mountain."

"We were attacked," Kirk clarified, then, "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been put through a meat grinder," McCoy answered sourly. "But never mind that. Who attacked us? And how'd we get out of there?"

"We think the attackers were the same creatures that destroyed the Starbase," Kirk responded. "I don't know why, but they fired at us three times, and then they stopped. We got off the mountain as quickly as we could, but our communicators aren't working, so we can't contact the Enterprise."

Once more, Bones tried to get up, and once more, he was shoved back down. He looked decidedly irritated.

"So that's why I'm here being mutilated by these … things," he said grumpily.

"Well, you're awake, so they must have done something for you," Kirk said fairly. "Their medicine isn't as advanced as yours, though, Bones. Speaking of –" he motioned to Christopher, and McCoy's eyes were redirected at him "– Christopher – I think the Silicans were trying to tell us that there is swelling in his brain, but they don't seem like they know what to do about it. Nothing they've tried is working. Is there anything you can think of that could help him?"

McCoy rummaged at his side for a moment, then looked back at Kirk. "Where's my medical kit?"

Kirk shook his head. "Lost," he said. "A lot of our equipment was lost or destroyed in the attack."

McCoy sighed. "Well that doesn't exactly simplify things, does it?" And, for the third time, he made to get up; this time, however, the furry hands that meant to hold him down were shoved forcefully away, and McCoy sat up in his bed. A moment later he was on his feet. The Silican who had been taking care of him merely shrugged and, apparently giving him up as a bad job, moved over to Lieutenant Hoff.

As Bones walked over to Christopher's bed, he stumbled slightly, and put a hand to his head. Kirk hurried over and offered him his arm. McCoy reluctantly took it.

"I feel like an old lady," he mumbled.

"Oh, stop whining," Kirk retorted.

They stepped up to Christopher's bed, around which the female Silican doctor was still bustling, and McCoy, squinting slightly, took a look at the unconscious cadet. He opened Christopher's eyes and examined them, felt his pulse and temperature, checked his body for breaks, and finally examined his head.

"His neck is stiff," McCoy said, after moving Christopher's head gently forwards and backwards, "which could indicate swelling in the brain. He's unresponsive, but then you'd probably already figured that out. His pupils are vacant and dilated. His heart rate is extremely low. I think he's in a coma."

Kirk felt his heart sink. "Is there anything you can do?" he asked, with very little hope.

McCoy grimaced. "With these primitive tools?" he said exasperatedly, then, pulling himself up, "Well, I wouldn't be much of a doctor if I couldn't do anything, would I?" He looked around the room. "What kind of equipment do they have here? What have they been using?"

Kirk shrugged. "Mostly pastes and liquids, I think."

McCoy raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I don't suppose they have any neural stimulators here …" he muttered. "But how about something cold? Or some oxygen?"

Kirk shook his head. "I don't know, Bones."

"Well, why don't we ask them then," McCoy said matter-of-factly.

"Unfortunately the universal translator was among the equipment lost," Spock said, who had stepped up to the other side of Christopher's bed and was regarding the Cadet with a frown on his face.

McCoy groaned. "Great. That's just wonderful."

He motioned to the nearest Silican and pointed at Christopher, then tried to act out the tools he needed. It proved to be difficult. After five minutes of intense miming, he had only managed to get across that he needed something cold.

"Charades was never my game," he said wearily.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Charades?" he said curiously.

McCoy waved a dismissive hand at him. "Never mind, Spock. I'll tell you later."

The female doctor had come over with a bucket of cold water and something that looked like a sponge. McCoy handed this to Kirk, saying,

"Keep his head cold. I'm going to look for something I can use to relieve the pressure."

Kirk immediately obeyed, while Bones started rummaging in drawers and cabinets, trying to find something that could help Christopher. The Silican doctors looked slightly taken aback at this, but once McCoy had managed to explain that he was a doctor – not without difficulty – they let him continue.

Meanwhile, as Kirk methodically moistened Christopher's head, Spock had requested the communicator, and was now fiddling with it, no doubt trying to find some way of recalibrating it to get around the interference and pick up the Enterprise's frequency.

"Any luck?" Kirk said, after ten minutes of this.

Spock looked up. "If by 'any luck' you mean to inquire whether I have succeeded in making this communicator produce anything other than static, the answer is, unfortunately, no."

"Well, at least there's static," Kirk said, a tinge of hope in his voice.

Spock looked at him. "Yes," he said somberly. "It is a very minor improvement."

Kirk sighed. "Just keep trying. And stay positive!"

Spock arched a supercilious eyebrow, but made no other response.

Bones came back a few minutes later, carrying something that looked disconcertingly like a small drill. Kirk raised his eyebrows as McCoy walked up to the bed and deposited the drill on the table next to it.

"Please tell me you're building a house," Kirk said tonelessly.

Bones ignored him and raised the Cadet to a sitting position.

"Help me pull the bed out a little," he said. Kirk remained where he was.

"What are you planning on doing with that thing?" he said, indicating the drill.

McCoy sighed. "It's an old Earth remedy," he said. "During the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, they would sometimes cut small holes in the skull to relieve intracranial pressure. If I've understood these Silicans correctly, they use it for repairing broken bones – don't ask me how – something to do with screws or something like that."

He shook his head, as if they idea were preposterous to him. Kirk's brain was reeling at the thought of McCoy drilling a hole in his lover's head.

"Are you sure that's safe?" he couldn't help but ask. "Have you done anything like that before?"

Doctor McCoy shrugged. "I've studied the theory," he said. This was not very comforting.

"I'd prefer a little more than theory before I allow you to start cutting holes in people's heads," he said sternly.

Bones sighed exasperatedly. "I'm sorry, Jim. This isn't exactly my first choice either, but Christopher isn't doing too well; his brain might already be damaged beyond repair. If we don't do something soon, he's going to die. So unless you can get him back to the Enterprise in the next five minutes …"

He trailed off, and Kirk knew he was right. He took one last look at Christopher, and then nodded his assent.

"Fine," he said. "Do you whatever you have to. Just …" he moved a little closer to Bones. "Just try to keep him alive, ok?"

McCoy's expression was knowing as he nodded solemnly. "Of course, Jim," he said softly. "I'll do whatever I can."

The preparations for the procedure didn't take long. When he was ready, Doctor McCoy summoned Kirk, who had been assisting Spock with the communicator, over to his side.

"I'm going to need some help," McCoy said. "When these procedures were used, they usually fastened the head so that it wouldn't move. We don't have anything to fasten it with, so I need you to hold him as steady as you can. I'll go slowly."

Kirk nodded, and grasped either side of the Cadet's head, holding it firmly. McCoy held the drill out in front of him and tested it carefully. It emitted a high-pitched buzzing sound.

"Ready?" McCoy said after a small pause.

Kirk nodded again. McCoy took a deep breath and positioned the drill at the back of Christopher's head, about three inches below the crown.

"Ok, here we go," McCoy said.

He started the drill. Kirk resisted the urge to close his eyes as the thing ground through Christopher's scalp. He had to keep his focus, make sure the Cadet's head remained still. As the drill bored through the bone, blood and cerebral fluid began to flow from the hole. Doctor McCoy's face was screwed up in concentration.

The drilling seemed like it took forever. It wasn't long before Kirk's hands were white with the effort of holding Christopher's head in place. He was terrified of loosening his grip. Finally, the terrible buzzing sound subsided, and Kirk saw McCoy extract the long, thin drill with extreme caution. He then slowly inserted a thin, tube-like something into the hole. All the while, the Silicans had been regarding him with a mixture of horror and awe.

Spock, for his part, had been working on the communicator, and he seemed to be making some progress, for he was now speaking into it, testing different frequencies.

"Enterprise, come in, this is Commander Spock. Enterprise, come in."

Kirk spared him a brief glance before turning back to McCoy.

"What now?" he said, a little impatiently.

"We just have to wait," McCoy replied. "I inserted the tube correctly, and the pressure should be decreasing now." He gave Kirk a significant look. "Jim, we don't know how badly his brain has been damaged. He might not wake up. And if he does wake up, he might not be … he might not be the same."

Kirk let go of Christopher's head and breathed slowly. He couldn't bear to think of that now. "Let's hope for the best then," he said.

"Enterprise, this is Commander Spock, come in, Enterprise."

There was a small pause, then,

"Enterprise here!"

Kirk jerked in surprise, then he spun around and hurried over to Spock, who immediately handed him the communicator.

"Am I ever glad to hear your voice, Sir!" Scotty chirped on the other end. "We've been trying to contact you for hours."

"The Enterprise," Kirk said urgently, "is she ok? Are you all ok?"

"Aye, Captain," Scotty replied, "we're alright up here." His voice sobered. "We didn' see it comin', Sir. It appeared out of nowhere and we were forced out of orbit. We turned around and it was gone, but the interference was so bad that we couldn't locate you – what happened down there?"

"It attacked us while we were up on one of the mountains," Kirk said. "We were investigating some symbols that had been burnt into the rock there, and then we were hit. I think they were antiproton beams."

"Were you hurt?" Scotty sounded concerned.

"Yes," Kirk responded frankly. "Two Security Officers were killed, one injured. Uhura, McCoy and Christopher were also injured. Can you beam us up, Scotty? We need to get these people to Sickbay as soon as possible."

There was a small pause, then, "Aye, Sir, I'm getting a signal from your communicator."

"Excellent," Kirk answered, moving over to Christopher's bed and motioning for the others to follow. "Six to beam up, then, on my mark."

Both Uhura and Hoff clambered off their beds and made their way gingerly over to Kirk. They only had one functioning communicator, so it was best to stay together as much as possible. Teli looked at them with a small frown on his face. Kirk didn't really know how he was going to explain this without words, but he pointed to the landing party and then up towards the ceiling, hoping that would make sense. He would come back down with a translator after he had checked that everything was as it should be onboard his ship, and explain properly.

Teli, for his part, merely nodded. Whether he understood or not was questionable, but Kirk didn't have the luxury of time at the moment, so he lifted his communicator and said,

"Now, Scotty, beam us up."

The Silican hospital disappeared from view, and a moment later, the transporter room of the Enterprise had materialized in front of them. A medical team was already standing by as they stepped off the transporter pad, and Kirk and McCoy, who were supporting the still unconscious form of Christopher between them, hurried over and placed him carefully on a gurney.

"Hurry up, and do what you can for him, Bones," Kirk said softly. "And don't forget to get yourself checked out as well," he added.

McCoy made a dismissive wave of his hand, then he hurried out of the transporter room. Lieutenant Uhura and Security Officer Hoff had also been placed on stretchers, and though both of them appeared to be doing quite well, they were hastened along after the Cadet. Only Kirk and Spock remained in the transporter room. They exchanged a look and wordlessly made their way up to the Bridge.

To Kirk's intense relief, everything in the control center looked normal. Scotty bounded up as they stepped off the turbolift, looking inordinately pleased to see them.

"Captain, I'm so glad you're alright," he said heartily. "And you, Mr. Spock."

"Has there been any damage to the ship?" Kirk asked.

Scotty shook his head. "It doesn't seem like the Enterprise was the target," he answered. "They blew us out of orbit somehow, but they left us unharmed. I couldn't tell you why."

Kirk frowned. This was making less and less sense. "They attacked us at our exact location on the mountain," he said, moving over to his chair. "It was like they knew exactly where we were. They must have scanned us. But why attack a small party of humans when there's a large city only a short distance away?"

"Perhaps they intended the shots as a warning," Spock said.

"Or a test of strength?"Chekov suggested tentatively.

Kirk looked at them both. "In either case, why wouldn't they have fired against the Enterprise?" he asked. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, but it seems like their actions are almost random."

Spock made a slight shake of his head. "I do not think so, Captain," he contradicted calmly. "It seems almost as if the unknown entity created a trap. They caused a disturbance and then waited until said disturbance was investigated."

"So you think they were continuously scanning that mountain?" Kirk asked, nonplussed.

"We must assume so," Spock calmly replied.

Kirk did not like this one bit. "This means they must have one heck of a cloaking device," he said drearily. "It probably also means that they scanned the Enterprise without our knowing it, and decided they didn't want to go up against a fully armed ship." He started to pace the Bridge, and stopped. "Which doesn't make sense either, because they went up against a Starbase and didn't seem to have any trouble."

"The Starbase was probably caught unawares though," Scotty interjected tentatively, "but we knew about the enemy. They must have known that it wouldn't be so easy to take us by surprise when we'd already seen what they were capable of."

Kirk's head was starting to ache. "But then why attack at all?" he asked the room at large. "Why not just make an escape? They certainly had the advantage."

"We are entering the realms of pure speculation, Captain," Spock responded, just as evenly as ever. "However, as has been previously intimated, the creatures we are pursuing seem to be highly belligerent. Perhaps they simply seek others' destruction."

There was a moment of silence.

"We are sure these are not Klingons?" Chekov said.

Kirk threw out his arms in exasperation. "I don't really think we're sure of anything at this point," he said, "but even Klingons have more method to their attacks than these creatures do. They like war, yes, but they usually have some motive, and they're not normally this shy about it. Also, unless they've made enormous progress as far as equipment goes, none of their weaponry can use antiprotons like that."

More silence.

"So, what do you propose to do, Captain?" Spock finally inquired.

Kirk looked at him. "Continue pursuit," he answered. "Try to make contact. Find out what they want." He turned to Scotty. "Scotty, I'm leaving you in command a little while longer. Our departure from Silicah was a little abrupt; I'm going back down to say a proper goodbye and thank you. Spock," he turned to the Vulcan, "I'd like you to come with me."

Spock nodded.

"The rest of you," Kirk continued, looking at his Bridge crew, "continue as you were. Sulu, plot in a course of pursuit, if you can. Kroener," Ensign Kroener, a young woman with bright red hair, who was bent over the Science Station, straightened up, "continue monitoring all outside activity. If you get any reading on that ship …" He trailed off, the rest of the sentence unnecessary.

Kroener nodded. "Yes, Sir," she said, and turned back to her work.

Kirk and Spock left the Bridge together. Once inside the turbolift, Kirk let out a long, slow breath. Spock turned to him.

"Are you alright, Captain?" he said.

Kirk waved a hand in his direction and mustered a tired half-smile. "Yes, Spock, I'm fine," he said.

Spock inclined his head slightly. Kirk frowned. He had been so busy with everyone else's injuries that he had completely forgotten about Spock's. The cut to his forehead was no longer bleeding, but it still looked pretty nasty, and he thought the Vulcan looked a little paler than usual.

Unthinkingly, Kirk raised a hand and placed two fingers lightly to Spock's forehead. Perhaps it was just fatigue, or perhaps the urge to make some physical contact with Spock had finally burst its boundaries, but it took a moment for Kirk's brain to catch up with his hand. When it did, Kirk hastily withdrew the limb, feeling an unwelcome blush creep up the sides of his face.

"You should get McCoy to look at that," he mumbled indistinctly.

Spock looked at Kirk with an expression that was uncommonly hard to define. Then he allowed himself the closest thing to a smile Kirk had seen on his face in months.

"I will report to Sickbay the moment we return," he said warmly.

Kirk, who had been terrified of a renewed cold front, felt as if a beam of sunlight had gone straight through him and left his insides warm and glowing. He couldn't help but smile.

"And Captain," Spock said, as the turbolift doors flew open. "Thank you. For saving my life."

Kirk wrestled with himself for one, small moment, but then figured that if touching Spock's forehead had gone over well, then a pat on the arm would probably be acceptable. He placed a hand on Spock's forearm and squeezed gently.

"You would do the same for me," he said.

Spock looked at him for a moment, then he nodded. "Always, Captain," he said softly.

Kirk knew he was being childish, but he would really have liked for Spock to have called him _Jim_ just then. But, he reminded himself, this was Spock, and Kirk would take whatever he could get. He dropped his hand to his side, and he and Spock moved down the hall, side by side, Kirk's heart beating just a little more quickly than usual. As they passed one of the equipment rooms, Spock halted.

"We will require another universal translator, I assume," he said, motioning towards the room.

Kirk, who had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he had momentarily forgotten, hastily confirmed and made to follow Spock into the room before he remembered something else.

"Spock," he said. "I would like to check on Christopher before we beam down to the planet. Would you mind meeting me in Sickbay?"

Spock put his hands behind his back. "I will find a translator and reconvene with you there," he replied simply.

Kirk hesitated for a moment – he didn't know precisely why – then he nodded and hurried down the hall.

He had forced himself not to think of Christopher as he had questioned the Bridge crew. Now, however, as he stepped into an uncommonly quiet Sickbay, he felt the fear wash up in him like a sickness. He remained standing just inside the door for an entire minute, looking determinedly at the floor. He didn't want to know, didn't want to see. If there had been good news, wouldn't Bones have contacted him?

_Ah_, said a little voice inside his ear, _but if there had been bad news, you would have been informed immediately_.

He moved forwards. The first room was deserted, but as he glanced through the opening that led into the second room, he could see Uhura and Hoff, sitting up in their beds and looking far more cheerful than they had done on the planet surface. Kirk moved forwards.

Uhura, upon seeing him, rose gracefully from her reclining position and came over to greet him with a smile on her face. She carefully held out her arm, showing Kirk a neat, clean bandage.

"Lieutenant Hoff and I are both feeling much better," she said. "Doctor McCoy fixed us up in no time."

Hoff, who was still reclining against his pillows, had an osteogenic stimulator over his broken ankle.

"Doctor says I'll be fit for duty in a couple of days," he said, sounding satisfied.

Kirk nodded, feeling very fond of them both. "You both did very well down there," he said warmly, then, to Uhura, "You should probably lie back down, before Bones throws me out for disturbing you."

Uhura flashed him a kind smile, and sat back down on her bed. Kirk looked at her searchingly, and she returned the gaze with a knowing look.

"Cadet Christopher is still unconscious," she said softly, inclining her head towards a corner of the room, where he could see McCoy standing over one of the beds, its occupant hidden from view, "but Doctor McCoy seemed hopeful the last time he was out here."

Kirk breathed slowly, then he nodded. He moved guardedly towards the corner. In the bed next to Christopher's lay the still unmoving form of the female they had rescued from Starbase 15. In all the hubbub, Kirk had almost completely forgotten about her. He paused for a moment by her bed and approached her quietly. She had dark, red hair, almost auburn; it had previously been so coated with blood and grime that it had been impossible to tell what color it was, but someone had obviously cleaned it. Her skin, too, had more color now: small, pink roses had formed in her cheeks, and she seemed to be breathing regularly. The osteogenic stimulator had been removed from her leg, which now looked normal, except for a silvery bandage which covered the area below her right knee. Her chest must also be bandaged, because it looked slightly lumpy underneath the thin hospital gown.

She was very young, hardly twenty. Kirk frowned to think how this ... _child_ would respond when she woke up to find that, of all the people she had worked with and known, she was the only survivor.

Kirk shuddered. It was a fate worse than death, being the only one left, having the weight of all those lives on your shoulders for the rest of your life. Kirk shook his head. He already knew all too well what that felt like, and it was not something he wished anyone else to experience. He looked at the girl again, and part of him suddenly hoped she would remain insensible forever.

He sighed, and, feeling very heavy, moved on.

Bones was muttering under his breath, and was moving back and forth a lot. When Kirk came upon him, he was rummaging in a case full of hyposprays, a concentrated frown on his face.

"Bones," Kirk said quietly, and McCoy jumped backwards so suddenly that he nearly overturned his equipment table and promptly dropped five hyposprays, which clattered noisily to the ground.

"Dammit, Jim!" he said, the moment he saw who it was. "Don't sneak up on a man who's ... not aware you're there."

Kirk would normally have found this very amusing, but his attention had quickly been caught by the Cadet, who was lying on his back, still looking very white and distinctly clammy. Kirk made his way around the Doctor, who was now kneeling on the floor to pick up his dropped equipment, and found himself looking down into a face so pale that it looked almost translucent. Kirk placed a hand tenderly on Christopher's cheek, which, despite its lack of color, was warm. He heard Bones come up behind him, but he kept his eyes on Christopher. Kirk didn't know how to feel. If Christopher didn't make it ... he shook his head, willing that thought away, and forced himself to tear his eyes away from the Cadet so he could focus them on Bones.

"How is he?" he said, his voice coming out with somewhat less strength than he had intended.

McCoy heaved a sigh. "It's hard to say, Jim," he said frankly. "The brain's a tricky thing. It's probably why us doctors still have so much trouble with it. What I _can_ say is that I am monitoring definite signs of activity, so I know his brain is functioning. The swelling is almost down, and my instruments aren't reading any signs of serious damage, but until the Cadet wakes up, and his brain is alert, it's very hard to pinpoint where any injuries might be. We're just going to have to wait and see when he wakes up."

"_If_ he wakes up," Kirk said, more to himself than anything else.

McCoy put a reassuring hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Hopefully, he'll be just fine," he said, but there was something about his tone that made the words seem slightly empty.

A set of quiet footsteps alerted Kirk to the approach of Spock, and he hastily removed his hand from the Cadet's cheek, standing up straight and turning around just as the Vulcan entered the room. Spock quickly assessed his surroundings before locking his eyes on Kirk.

"How is the Cadet?" he asked, his tone perfectly polite, though Kirk thought he could distinguish in it a slight edge, as if the words were difficult for Spock to say. He ignored this, shaking his head and approaching the Vulcan.

"We don't know yet, Spock," he answered.

Spock glanced at the Cadet. "He is still unconscious," he said. It was more of a statement than a question, but Kirk nonetheless confirmed it with a nod.

"We should get going," he said then. "You have the translator?"

Spock inclined his head. Kirk turned to McCoy.

"I'll come back and check on him as soon as we return," he said. He looked at Christopher again, and felt suddenly very reluctant to leave.

Bones must have read something in his expression, because he once more placed his hand on Kirk's shoulder, and with a reassuring expression, said, "I'm taking good care of him, Jim."

Kirk let out a small sigh. "I know you are, Bones."

Still, he didn't move.

"In the interest of efficiency, we should leave now, Captain," Spock said evenly, no hint of judgment in his voice, though Kirk still felt like he had just been implicitly berated.

Feeling embarrassed again, he hastily straightened himself up and, determinedly looking ahead, marched out of the room, Spock following silently.

They didn't speak as they moved towards the transporter room, but Kirk knew Spock was looking at him. Suddenly, for some inconceivable reason, he realized that Spock knew about Christopher. Kirk didn't understand why this hit him so very forcefully just now, all he knew was that there was no doubt in his mind that Spock knew, and had probably known for a while. In fact, he was almost surprised that he hadn't noticed before. It even explained a lot of Spock's behavior. The Vulcan didn't like Christopher, he never had, he had never approved of the decision to take him onboard, and he had never managed to get used to his presence.

As they walked into the transporter room, Kirk chanced a look at him, and Spock's eyes were locked on his face. It made him feel unusually uncomfortable. Turning his eyes away, he moved to the comm. unit on the wall.

"Scotty," he said, "I need you to find the coordinates from where you beamed us up and transfer them to the transporter room computer."

"Aye, Sir, just a minute."

They waited.

"Alright, Sir, it's done."

"Good," Kirk said, and walked over to the transporter pad. Spock was already standing there. "Beam us down to those coordinates," he instructed the technician on duty.

The transporter room dissolved, and, a moment later, they were once more standing in the hospital in Tanderra. Two of the Silican medics, who were busily arranging one of the beds, jumped as the heard the sound and spun around on the spot, matching expressions of surprise on their faces.

Spock already had the translator out, and Kirk hastily said, "I apologize for our sudden departure, and for arriving like this. We wanted to come back and thank you for your help."

The two Silicans looked at each other and then back at Kirk and Spock. Then their eyes traveled to the translator, from which Kirk's words had emanated in their language. There was another moment's hesitation, then the male stepped forwards.

"You have surprised us," he said simply.

"We apologize," Kirk repeated.

The Silicans' eyes remained on the translator. For another, long moment, there was silence. Then the male pointed to the device. "This ... thing," he said, in measured tones, "it allows you to understand us."

Kirk nodded. "Yes," he replied. "It's a universal translator. It translates both of our languages, so that we can speak to each other more easily."

The two Silicans exchanged another look, and then the male continued, "Then I can ask you: How are your injured crew members? The one with the head wound – we could not do anything for him, but your medic drilled a hole in his head. Did this help? Is he better?"

He asked with a clear sense of curiosity, but it was also obvious that he was genuinely concerned. Kirk really liked these creatures.

"We don't know yet if he's going to be ok," he answered, checking his own emotions as well as he could, "but the swelling in his brain has gone down, and we hope that he'll wake up soon."

The Silican looked at him with a frown on his face. The other one, the female, was also staring at him with an expression that seemed both intrigued and slightly disturbed.

"Your medicine is more advanced than ours," she said, speaking for the first time. "I am glad you could help your friend. We did not think we would be able to save him."

Kirk looked at her. "Well, you tried," he said seriously. "You did everything you could to help, and that means a lot to us. We hope we can return the favor one day."

There was silence once more. The Silicans apparently had a tradition for simply absorbing what had been said before replying. Finally, the male Silican said,

"You are going?"

Kirk nodded. "We have to continue on our journey, yes," he said. "But we would like to speak with Teli, so that we can thank him for his help."

"Teli is at the gate," the Silican replied, immediately this time. "You can find your way there?"

Kirk looked at Spock, who inclined his head.

"Yes," Kirk said. "Thank you."

They moved towards the exit, and the two Silicans followed them there. As they were preparing to leave, the female Silican said, "Do you plan to return?"

Kirk looked at her. "We don't know," he said honestly. "Our travels usually don't take us to the same places twice. We have to continue onwards."

The Silicans nodded, but did not reply. Kirk couldn't tell whether they were sad or relieved. But it was impossible for Kirk and Spock to linger here when there was so much to be done, so they all said their goodbyes, and the two Starfleet officers moved out into the streets of Tanderra, where the wind was blowing harshly today. Kirk instantly regretted not bringing a jacket, and Kirk saw Spock's shoulders tense against the cold gale.

They moved decisively in the direction of the gate. The wind seemed to increase as they walked, though Kirk realized it might just be that he was growing gradually colder and colder. By the time they reached the gate, some fifteen minutes later, Kirk was shivering. He knew Spock must be equally cold, but as usual, the Vulcan was maintaining a flawlessly unaffected exterior. Well, almost. Spock's eyes seemed to Kirk just a little duller than usual, and he was pretty sure the Vulcan was feeling the effects of the wind just as much as he was.

Halting before the gate, Kirk and Spock only had to wait a short moment before Teli, who had probably seen them approaching, came hobbling towards them, a thankfully welcoming smile on his face. Spock once more took out the translator and Teli, seeing and recognizing the device, immediately spoke.

"You are back!" he said happily.

Kirk smiled. "We couldn't leave without thanking you for all your help," he said.

Teli shook his head. "We are glad to help," he said amicably, then, tilting his head a little to one side, "You are leaving?"

Kirk nodded. "We have to. We need to track the thing that's killing our people, and find out what it wants."

Teli frowned. "They are dangerous," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, they are," Kirk answered, "but we can't just let them destroy people."

Teli looked at him, then at Spock, then back to him. Finally, he let out something that sounded like a sigh.

"I am sorry you have to go," he said. "I hope you will succeed in your mission. And I hope you will be careful."

Kirk smiled. "We'll try our best." He held out his hand. Teli took it with something that looked like a mixture of concern and sadness.

"We will see you again?" he asked hopefully.

As before, Kirk could not give a positive answer to this. He honestly didn't know if their travels would ever take them back to this particular area of space. It could happen, but he had no way of foreseeing _if_ or _when_. He reluctantly shook his head.

"I don't know," he said. "We will have to see what happens."

It was very difficult to see whether or not Teli accepted this answer, but he nodded before stepping back and regarding them expectantly. Kirk took out his communicator. Teli, however, appeared suddenly to have thought of something.

"The creatures that attacked you here," he said, a slight edge to his tone, "will they return?"

Kirk had already considered this question, and he had come to the conclusion that, given the creatures' previous target, and given the fact that they now seemed to have disappeared without materially damaging this planet, despite their obvious love of carnage, whoever they were, these aliens were after bigger, more powerful things. Spock was apparently of the same opinion.

"I do not think it likely," Spock responded in his customary analytical voice. "Your planet, I believe, does not constitute a sufficiently challenging target. I also conjecture that these creatures now know that they are being followed, which means that they will in all likelihood either abandon their mission, whatever that mission is, or they will focus their hostility on the Enterprise."

Teli looked at them for a long moment. Kirk feared the question he knew was coming, because however much they wanted to, they couldn't help, and there was no way for them of knowing how the Silicans would fare after they left. So he waited in suspense. Finally, Teli said,

"What if the creatures do return? What do we do?"

Kirk sighed, and shook his head sadly. "We just have to hope that doesn't happen," he answered, knowing this response was a really lousy one. "We'll be tracking them as well as we can, and hope to be able to determine their direction."

Teli frowned. "So you will know if they turn around?"

"We hope so." Kirk hesitated, then said, "If they do come back, don't try to fight them. Do you have someplace you can hide?"

Teli nodded. "We have shelters," he said. "The fierce storms and quakes on our planet surface make these necessary."

Kirk felt his spirits heighten materially. If the Silicans had shelters that would protect them from their turbulent weather, these selfsame shelters might very well be enough to conceal them from alien threat. At least he hoped so.

"Good," Kirk said, a little more reassured. "If they come back, get your people to these shelters, and stay hidden."

"Is there some way we can contact you, if this should happen?" Teli asked, and Kirk's spirits sank once more.

"We are forbidden to leave any of our equipment with you," he said, privately cursing the Federation, "but we will, as I said, track these creatures, and we hope you will never have to deal with them."

Kirk did not blame Teli for looking vaguely disgruntled at this point, but the Silican appeared to understand that there was no use in arguing, and being, apparently, a creature more interested in friendship than antagonism, he simply lowered his shoulders and offered them a tired smile.

"You are bound by rules, I understand," he said resignedly. "I will accept this, although I do not fully understand. I wish you a safe journey, Captain Kirk. Good luck."

Despite the friendly tone, there was a finality in the Silican's speech that clearly meant it was time for them to go. Spock put the translator in his belt and Kirk lifted his communicator to his mouth.

"Transporter room, this is Captain Kirk," he said. "We are ready to beam up."

The signal was still sketchy at best, but after a few moments' crackling, the communicator yielded the voice of the technician on duty.

"Yes, Sir," he said. "Two to beam up, then, Captain?"

"Yes, right away."

Kirk lifted his hand in farewell, and he saw Teli do the same before Tanderra disappeared from view. A moment later, Kirk and Spock were back in the transporter room.

They wasted no time in stepping off the pad and making their way out into the hall, which was crowded with people running here and there, preparing for departure. Kirk had about a million different thoughts in his mind as he moved swiftly through the corridors, Spock at his side, but one instantly received priority in his cluttered head: He needed to see Christopher.

He paused before the nearest turbolift and turned to Spock.

"I'm going to stop by Sickbay," he said quickly. "You should head back to the Bridge and resume your station, make sure we don't miss anything out there."

Spock looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite read, and Kirk had the insane momentary fear that Spock had perceived this order as a dismissal. A second later, however, Spock nodded peaceably and after a very short pause, said,

"When he wakes up, give the Cadet my best wishes."

He continued to meet Kirk's gaze for another moment, then he turned and left. Kirk watched Spock's retreating back with a small frown on his face. He couldn't help but be impressed with the Vulcan's concession in this. He knew his friend's feelings on the subject of the Cadet were forceful enough. He also knew that Spock's sense of infallible logic would normally make any allusion to _when_ the Cadet would wake up an impossibility. Reason still seemed to indicate that Christopher's regaining consciousness was very far from a certainty. Spock knew this all too well, and Kirk knew that it usually took a lot for the Vulcan not to make the logical point.

So Kirk couldn't help but smile faintly as he entered the turbolift, a smile that very quickly turned to a grimace as the turbolift moved towards its destination. His stomach squirmed unpleasantly as he got out on Deck 5 and moved towards Sickbay. He walked quickly at first, but as he drew closer he hesitated, and slowed down. He almost came to a full stop before he mentally shook himself and, face set in a concentrated frown, rallied his spirits and strode into Sickbay with as much confidence as he could muster.

Bones was there in an instant, and for a few seconds, Kirk found himself looking at the Doctor's shoes to avoid seeing the expression on his face. But, being the Captain, he felt that this avoidance tactic was somewhat weak. He took a breath and raised his eyes to meet Bones'.

Something welled up in the pit of his stomach with the force of a tidal wave; Bones was smiling.

Kirk didn't even ask the question, but pushed unceremoniously past the Doctor, who followed him into the next room, where Christopher was sitting upright in bed, looking tired but unmistakably awake. He turned his head as Kirk approached, and a smile spread slowly across his face.

"I hear I've been the cause of some concern," he said, with a smirk.

Kirk could have cried with relief. Not giving the action a second thought, he promptly strode over to Christopher's bed, cupped the Cadet's face in his hands and pressed their lips together. From out of the corner of his eye, he saw McCoy turn away rather pointedly. This he ignored. Hoff, asleep in his bed, did not notice.

When they broke apart, the Cadet's smirk was even more pronounced than before.

"Such enthusiasm," he said. "I like it."

Kirk was caught between the urge to roll his eyes and kiss him again. He settled for a hand on Christopher's shoulder and turned towards Bones.

"How is he?" he asked expectantly.

"I'm right here," Christopher said, waving a hand in Kirk's direction.

Kirk hastily motioned for him to be quiet. He needed to hear McCoy's opinion. The Doctor shrugged.

"All the tests seem fine," he said. "I'd like to keep him here for another day, maybe two – make sure nothing starts acting up, but for all intents and purposes I'd say he's had a pretty damn lucky escape."

Kirk looked back at Christopher, who was pulling a face, probably at the idea of staying in bed for two days.

"No complaints," Kirk said, cutting him off as he opened his mouth, presumably to argue. "You're alive, and you're staying that way, and you're doing _exactly_ what McCoy tells you to. I'll tie you down to that bed if I have to."

Cadet Christopher raised his eyebrows, then he smirked again, as if the thought of being forcibly restrained, far from deterring him from trying to get up, was rather inviting. Kirk pointed an admonitory finger in his direction with as serious an expression as he could force his face into.

"Don't even think about it."

Christopher let out a small chuckle, which quickly turned into a groan as his face sobered and he put a hand to his head. Doctor McCoy instantly moved over to his bed and, shaking his head with an exasperated expression, administered a hypo to the Cadet's right arm.

"You might be awake," he said gruffly, "but you've still got a nasty head injury, and it's not going away with the blink of an eye, so you need to relax."

He looked pointedly at Kirk as he said this, and Kirk shrugged somewhat sheepishly. He realized it was probably time for him to go.

"The Cadet needs to rest," McCoy said then, confirming this theory.

Christopher looked displeased. "Come on," he said, a little petulantly, "I've been sleeping for hours."

Bones took out a hypospray from a medical kit at his side and held it up in the air with an unmistakably threatening air.

"You've been _unconscious_ for hours, which is hardly the same thing. You can stay still, or I can knock you out. It's up to you."

Cadet Christopher, sensing defeat, rolled his eyes, sighed, and promptly leaned back against his pillows. Kirk couldn't help but smile. It was refreshing to see that there was someone else on this ship who hated being immobilized as much as he did. He certainly didn't envy Christopher the two days he'd be spending in here. But he was alive, gloriously and undeniably _alive_, and Kirk would make sure the Cadet followed McCoy's instructions to the letter. Christopher was not getting out of this bed until Bones was completely sure that he was healed.

Kirk stepped out of Sickbay a few minutes later and, smiling to himself, headed up to the Bridge. When he exited the turbolift, he found the control center teeming with activity. Spock was busily engaged at his station, Scotty was still in the control seat, but he was talking on the intercom, giving someone down in Engineering a long list of instructions. Kirk turned to Communications, and was very pleased to see Uhura back in her seat, looking cheerful despite a heavily bandaged arm.

Everyone was so busy that not a single person noticed Kirk's entrance, so he took a moment and simply watched them all, a warm, glowing feeling spreading through his limbs. Finally Uhura, who, by the sound of it, had been updating Starfleet on the latest details of their pursuit, turned around in her seat, and, seeing the Captain, smiled.

"How is Christopher feeling?" she said warmly, as Kirk came forwards.

"He's feeling better," Kirk said, and now the other crew members had also noticed his presence. Scotty immediately vacated the center chair. "He's already complaining, so I'm sure he'll be up and about in no time," Kirk continued, as he sat down. "So, what's the word from Starfleet?"

"They're sending backup," Uhura responded immediately, and Kirk spun around in his seat.

"Really?" he said before he could stop himself. They had been in quite a few dangerous situations up to now, and it hardly ever seemed like backing them up was Starfleet's priority.

The corner of Uhura's mouth twitched, but she was serious as she answered, "Yes, they're sending the nearest starship, the Donovan."

Kirk frowned. "Who's in command there?"

Uhura quickly checked her information. "His name is Captain Bill Jordan," she answered. "He was assigned to the Donovan three years ago."

"I've heard the name," Kirk said pensively, "but I don't think I've met him."

"They're on their way here, but it will take them about a day to reach us," Uhura said.

Kirk instantly shook his head. "We can't wait that long." He cast a quick glance around at his crew. "If we wait a day, we'll have no hope of tracking these aliens. We need to get moving as soon as possible."

Sulu turned in his seat. "If we plug in a pursuit course and set off at warp three, the Donovan can maintain warp five and catch us in a little over thirty hours," he suggested.

Kirk turned to Uhura. "Can we get in touch with the Donovan?" he said.

Uhura nodded and immediately set up the connection. After a brief introduction – they would have to do it properly later on – Kirk explained the situation and relayed Sulu's suggestion to Captain Jordan.

"If you think you can handle this thing by yourselves ..." Captain Jordan's voice came across the intercom, sounding skeptical.

"We don't plan on handling anything," Kirk answered, a little brusquely. "We only know that if we don't track it now, we'll lose it. If we do intercept them before you catch up with us, we'll try our very best to avoid conflict."

Captain Jordan let out what seemed to be a slightly frustrated sigh. "Ok, Captain Kirk, we'll be with you as soon as we can. Jordan out."

The transmission ended and Kirk knew he hadn't been as polite as he should have been. But there wasn't any time for that now.

"Can we plot in a pursuit course?" he asked the Bridge at large, and Spock responded,

"I have been successful in pinpointing a trail of antiproton residue I believe must be emanating from the alien vessel, and Mr. Sulu has laid in a pursuit course which corresponds to these readings. We should be ready now."

"Mr. Sulu?" Kirk asked, and the helmsman turned.

"Yes, sir," he said. "We're ready to go."

Kirk breathed, slowly. The attack on Silicah, the second attack by this unknown enemy, had created a deep-strung tension within him, a tension that was begging for some action. He needed to resolve this, needed to figure out _why_.

"Alright, Sulu," Kirk said. "Take her out of orbit and bring her slowly up to warp three."

"Yes, sir."

Kirk felt with pleasure the familiar sounds and rumblings indicative of a ship in action. His anticipation mounted, and he gripped the sides of his chair forcefully, his face set.

Sulu had just gotten the Enterprise up to warp three when the comm. unit let out a stressed little beep and McCoy's voice was heard on the other end.

"Jim," he said, his voice slightly strained. "I need you down here."

Kirk's heart skipped into his throat. "Christopher, is he –"

"He's fine, he's fine," Bones said impatiently. "It's not him, it's the girl."

"From the Starbase?" Kirk said, though he knew it must be her, because there was no other girl down there.

"Yes," Bones said. "She's awake."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** If anyone thinks the head-drilling thing was farfetched, let's all take a moment to remember "Spock's Brain", shall we? McCoy reattaches a BRAIN, for crying out loud. So I figure he can drill a hole in someone's skull. Right? Right? The medical procedure is actually accurate, by the way.

All my lovely readers will have to wait an extra week for Chapter 10, because I'm going on a two-week cruise (wooo!), and apparently, I won't have an internet connection. I'll make sure to have the chapter ready so that I can post directly I return. It will, as I mentioned in the A/N of my first chapter, be the last chapter you'll be getting for a while. I need time to write the rest of the story before I continue posting.

Anyway, I will see you all in two weeks! Hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Hey guys. Sorry for the long wait. I was, as I mentioned last time, on vacation with my family, and we didn't have much of an internet connection, so I was, sadly, unable to update. Then, just as we were heading for home, the Norway attacks happened, and, consequently, when I got home, I didn't feel much like writing fanfiction. My family, friends, and I are all ok, but it's been a pretty hard week all the same. So I'm very sorry for keeping you waiting, but I trust you can understand.

Anyway, enough of that dreary talk. On to Chapter 10! Now, as I warned you in the A/N before my first chapter, I will be taking a bit of a break after this installment. I need to write the remaining chapters, and because of a very hectic spring finishing my BA in English Literature, I did not have much time for fanfiction before the summer. The summer has also been rather busy, and I'm hoping to have more time now, but I also have to work (to pay rent and buy food and stuff). So I'm going to give you a tentative date for the continuation of this fic: **Oct. 7**. I know I'm keeping you waiting a ridiculously long time, but I hope you will want to stick with me anyway. If I finish earlier, I will naturally also start posting again sooner. I'll post updates on my profile as I go along.

As always, I have to take a moment to thank my glorious beta, and friend, Judin. When I finish this fic, all glory and honor shall be hers. For all of you out there who think you don't need a beta: **You're wrong.** It's not just about correcting language errors (I flatter myself I'm quite adequate in that department), it's about encouragement. It's about finding someone you can bounce ideas off of, someone who will nitpick, who will be honest and tell you when something doesn't work. It's about getting the story out of your own head and into someone else's. When you're writing a story, any story that you work on for a certain period of time, you have a tendency of becoming blind with regards to it; you don't always see that circumstances which are perfectly logical in your own mind, don't always make sense, or sound good, to an outside reader. This is where a good beta is essential. Find one! Just a little piece of advice from me, and an homage to the utterly fantastic Judin.

So I hope you'll enjoy this. Without further ado, then, Chapter 10!

* * *

><p>Spock turned to see the Captain tense in his chair. His finger hovering over the comm. button, he took two deep breaths, then, his voice steady but unusually quiet, he said,<p>

"I'll be right down."

He rose swiftly from his chair, almost as if doing so quickly could alleviate some of his apprehension. Turning, his eyes immediately found Spock's, and the Vulcan knew the Captain would wish him to accompany him. Spock's calculations were completed, the course was laid in and the Enterprise was on its way; there was no logical reason to refuse this service, although he knew the more he supported the Captain in every little thing, the more difficult it would be to leave him, as he knew he must, and soon.

"Spock, I'd like you to come with me," Captain Kirk said, confirming Spock's assumptions. He looked at Spock with such unmasked need that the Vulcan instantly complied, cursing his human weakness even as he moved forwards.

The Captain gave Mr. Scott the conn. and then he and Spock stepped into the turbolift, Spock taking very great care to look straight ahead of him. He could not analyze why he was made so particularly uncomfortable at this precise moment, but he could feel his hands shaking in their vice-tight grip behind his back. He could feel, rather than see, the Captain's eyes on him.

"Spock, are you alright?" Captain Kirk asked, and the question surprised Spock so greatly that, abandoning his decision to keep his eyes directed forwards, he snapped his head around and met his Captain's worried gaze.

"Yes, Captain," he said, a little breathlessly, then, pulling himself very forcefully together, added, in a much more tranquil tone, "I am fine. I believe I am a little fatigued."

"Does your head hurt?" the Captain asked, eyeing Spock's forehead, which was now sporting a small but efficient bandage.

"My head is not causing me any discomfort worth mentioning," Spock replied. There was a small pause during which the two men looked at each other. Then Spock said, "You appeared distressed, on the Bridge."

Captain Kirk kept his eyes on Spock's, looking like he had an immeasurably heavy weight on his shoulders. However, Spock did not need the Captain to tell him what was distressing him, for with a very small margin of doubt, Spock was quite certain he knew.

"You will have to tell her," Spock said, voicing his theory, "of the slaughter on the Starbase. You wish you could spare her the information."

The Captain turned his eyes down for a moment, and turned them back up with a grimace. With a jerky, unexpected movement, he gripped one of the control levers and stopped the turbolift in its progress. Spock frowned, and for a moment the small space was filled with an almost oppressive silence.

"You don't forget something like that," Captain Kirk said finally, his voice very small, yet coarse. "You don't just leave it behind you – it follows you, haunts you … it defines you. We don't know what she's already seen. Maybe she knows, or at least suspects, but I have to go down there and destroy any grain of hope she might have left. I have to scar her for life."

He looked at Spock as if he wished the Vulcan to tell him that he did not have to do this, that he could somehow escape this responsibility, but Spock could not say anything of the sort. It was Captain Kirk's undeniable duty, as Captain of this ship, to give the girl the news. Spock could not change that. However, the destruction was not the Captain's fault, and it was useless for him to blame himself for any pain the girl might experience.

"You are not to blame for what has happened," Spock said, voicing this thought aloud. "You cannot place that responsibility on your own shoulders, merely because the task of relating the tragedy to its survivor falls to you. It is not logical."

Captain Kirk shook his head and let out an utterly mirthless laugh. He did not say anything further, but restarted the turbolift, which, a short minute later opened up on Deck 5. Spock did not know what to make of this reaction, so he followed the Captain out without a word.

They stepped into Sickbay and were instantly approached by a rather stressed Doctor McCoy. Captain Kirk made a move towards the other room, but his progress was impaired by the Doctor, who stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Wait a minute, Jim," he said in low tones. "She doesn't know anything."

The Captain frowned. "What do you mean, Bones?"

"I mean she doesn't know _anything_," Doctor McCoy replied, casting a brief glance towards the doorway before turning back to them. "I thought something was funny when I did her blood work. Her blood contained a very large amount of antibodies, like she was fighting off an infection. At first I just assumed it was from the trauma, but her t-cell count seemed very high. So I ran some more tests." The Doctor paused. "She was already sick, Jim. And she confirmed that herself just now. She was in the infirmary when the attack happened. Someone must have knocked her out with a powerful sedative or something, because she doesn't remember how she got her injuries. She has a vague memory of someone lifting her out of bed, and then everything is blank."

Kirk moved his eyes to rest on the wall behind which the injured girl rested. "She was unconscious the whole time she was in the wall?"

Doctor McCoy made a slight shrug, shaking his head. "It's very difficult to separate what parts are reality and which ones are hallucinations. She said she remembered a closed, dark space, which might have meant that she woke up for short periods at a time while she was lying in the wall, but it could also just be part of her coma. I honestly don't know."

"She did not see her attackers," Spock said.

"Not as far as I can tell," the Doctor confirmed.

They were silent for a moment; all three of them had their eyes on the doorway. Then the Doctor spoke again.

"Jim," he said, and his tone had altered materially; it took on a note of cautiousness, as if he knew just how utterly unwelcome his next words would be to the Captain. Captain Kirk clearly noticed the change, his eyes becoming hard, his lips forming a thin, unyielding line. Doctor McCoy, apparently undeterred by this, continued, "I thought you should be the one to tell her."

A shadow passed across the Captain's face, although his expression remained otherwise unchanged. "Did you?" he said coldly. The question was met with silence. "How very considerate of you, Bones."

Doctor McCoy shook his head. "You're the Captain, Jim," he said simply, but his expression was apologetic.

Some of the rigidity seemed to pass out of Captain Kirk's spine, and his shoulders slumped. "I know," he said dejectedly. "Right now I just wish I weren't."

Spock knew that the Captain would not make such a statement lightly, and for a moment it was like a rope had tied itself around his midriff and was pulling him decisively towards his friend. With difficulty, he resisted the urge to put a hand on the Captain's shoulder. Captain Kirk, for his part, steeled himself once more, and, probably feeling that further procrastination would only serve to amplify his apprehension of the coming conversation, he strode past Doctor McCoy into the room beyond, the Doctor and Spock following directly behind him.

The young girl, upon seeing these three men enter, two of them strangers to her, sat up in her bed and regarded them with a slightly nervous curiosity. Spock frowned; the girl was young, as he had previously conjectured, but there was an unsuspected sense of maturity and experience in her expression which, naturally, had not been discernible while she was unconscious.

Captain Kirk stopped at the foot of her bed, his arms held stiffly at his sides, his expression somber. "I'm Captain James Kirk," he said quietly, and there was an almost mechanic quality to his words. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better."

He did not look remotely glad, and the young woman seemed to have noticed, for she frowned, a growing feeling of uncertainty plainly evident on her features.

"I'm Yana," she said, "Yana Andreev."

Her voice was surprisingly deep; if Spock were to have ventured any hypotheses as to her vocal chords simply going by her appearance, he might have supposed her to be a soprano; she had a very slight build and, apart from the eyes, an almost childlike face. She spoke with a Russian accent, which, though less pronounced than Ensign Chekov's, was still noticeable.

"You worked at the Starbase," Captain Kirk said.

Yana Andreev's frown deepened. "I work there, yes," she replied, a note of hesitation in her voice. "I am a communications technician."

From out of the corner of his eye, Spock saw the Captain draw a deep breath. "Doctor McCoy says you don't remember what happened," he said heavily.

Yana regarded him with eyes in which a growing sense of dread was battling the need for information. Her lips shook slightly as she parted them to speak.

"I – do not remember," she almost whispered. "I was sick. They were treating me in the Infirmary …" She trailed off, her eyes becoming momentarily unfocused. "There was a noise," she said, speaking slowly and tentatively, as if she were struggling to remember a dream. "A loud noise. I woke up and Doctor Knightley was bending over me – I think he gave me something … Then I woke up here."

Captain Kirk took a step forwards. "And you didn't see anything, hear anything?" he said tensely.

Yana's lips were pale. She looked at the Captain with hardened eyes. "What happened?" she said, her tone plainly fearful, yet determined.

Captain Kirk made a move as if he meant to make some sort of physical contact, but then thought better of it. Rather uncharacteristically, he put his hands behind his back. Spock frowned. The Captain cleared his throat softly. Perhaps he thought it would help the words flow more easily.

"There was an attack," he said quietly, and his voice was steady, professional. Spock felt, despite his best efforts, an avid admiration for him; for a human, Captain Kirk could, at times, discipline his emotions with a near-Vulcan conviction.

Yana looked at each of them in turn, then shifted in her bed, looking around her as if she expected to discover recognizable faces standing at a distance. Finding no one, she turned back to Captain Kirk, her forehead creased with a line of worry.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asked, her voice beginning to sound strained.

"There was an attack," the Captain repeated. "The creatures who attacked you destroyed the station. We were on our way to you for some repairs and restocking, and when we were a few hours away, we received a distress call. It was several days old and had probably been blocked by interference." Captain Kirk was speaking rather quickly, as if he wished to get this all out with as little delay as possible. Yana looked as if she were having trouble digesting the information. "We increased speed and got there as fast as we could, but … it was too late."

Something blank seemed to pass across Yana's eyes. "What … what do you mean?" she said, her voice very soft, and very small.

Captain Kirk took another, steadying breath. "The creatures who attacked you destroyed everything," he said. "We found you in a small compartment in one of the walls – someone must have hidden you there. Everyone else was … everyone else was dead. I'm – very sorry."

Yana's eyes widened and she let out a short, stunted breath. "No," she said, as if she could ward off the truth with a word. "No. You're lying. You're not – it can't ..."

The poor girl's face was completely white, the little color she had regained from her convalescence draining from it as rapidly as water runs through cupped hands. The Captain's face was almost equally devoid of color, his mouth set in a very thin line, his eyes empty and grey. Spock felt for him very deeply. The Captain's experience on Tarsus IV was, if not precisely similar to this, then probably a forceful reminder of how he had once survived where many others had been destroyed. Spock did not envy him that memory.

"I am sorry," Captain Kirk repeated dully. "There was no one else. We found you in the walls, badly injured. Everyone else we found ..."

He trailed off, seeming to think further description unnecessary. Yana looked as if someone had struck her violently across the face. Her chest heaved as her breathing grew more rapid. She clutched at her sheets with frantic fingers. Spock's feeling, as of recently so completely invested in his own dilemma, went out to the girl, and for a moment he wished, illogically, that he could alter reality.

"Everyone ...?" she said, her voice a mere whisper, and several heavy tears cascaded down her face.

Captain Kirk took a measured breath, and nodded. "Yes."

"I'm the only one left?"

There was a note of plea in her voice now, as if she desired nothing but to hear that this had somehow all been an enormous misunderstanding, or else an elaborate trick. Once more, however, Captain Kirk was forced to nod.

Yana's face twisted in pain, and she let out a strangled moan which seemed to come from the very depths of her soul. Captain Kirk, whose color had turned rapidly from white to grey, seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then he moved forwards and, sitting down on the edge of the bed, gripped Yana's hand in his own. She did not seem to notice the contact at first, then Spock saw her hand tighten in the Captain's. Spock exchanged a glance with Doctor McCoy, who looked as if he did not know quite what to do.

"Captain," Spock said tentatively, but Captain Kirk sent him a look that made it very clear to him that he should be quiet. Spock placed his hands behind his back and looked once more at the Doctor, who shrugged.

All of them remained still for several, long moments, while Yana sobbed quietly and held on to Captain Kirk's hand with white fingers. Finally, placing his other hand on top of hers, Kirk said,

"I know there's very little I can say to make this better. But you're alive. You can keep going, live your life."

Yana, whose eyes had been locked on her covers, looked up at Captain Kirk with a tearstained face and a hard expression

"Live my life?" she said shakily. "I've just lost most of my friends and all of my colleagues, and you tell me to live my life?"

Captain Kirk held her gaze unwaveringly. "Yes," he said, "that's exactly what I'm telling you. You have a family, don't you?"

Yana breathed slowly. He jaw quivered. "Yes," she answered.

"Good," Captain Kirk said firmly, his tone and expression suddenly hard, unyielding. "You have someone."

Yana was looking at him as if she did not know quite what to make of this. She did not attempt a reply, but turned her head towards Spock and Doctor McCoy, perhaps hoping they had some explanation for this behavior. Spock was becoming worried that the Captain's investment in the situation would overshadow his better judgment. He stepped forwards, but was once more halted by a look from Captain Kirk.

"Listen," the Captain said, and his voice was kinder now, softer, the hard edge gone as swiftly as it had appeared. Yana turned back to him. "You might find this difficult to believe, but I know how you feel."

Yana frowned, and Spock and Doctor McCoy exchanged another look. Captain Kirk had not previously spoken of this experience willingly.

"I'm sure you've heard of the incident on Tarsus IV," the Captain said, and Yana, looking mildly confused, nodded. "There were four thousand of us," Captain Kirk continued. His voice sounded utterly lifeless. "Nine survived. I was one of them."

Tears continued to run soundlessly down Yana's pale cheeks, although now a trace of sympathy mixed with the sadness visible on her face. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it again, averting her eyes for a moment before once more fixing them on the Captain.

"You keep going," Captain Kirk said then. "I'm not saying it won't be hard. I'm just saying it's possible." The Captain's eyes darkened with some unknown memory, and his next words were spoken so softly that they were almost inaudible:

"At least you didn't see it."

The silence that followed this was so dense it was nearly tangible. For the span of about ten seconds, no one spoke or moved. It was as if they had all been subjected to a kind of trance. Then Captain Kirk stood up so suddenly and decisively that it caused the other humans in the room to jump. Yana's hand twitched as the Captain's was pulled away, and she looked at him with eyes full of pain.

Captain Kirk was white as a sheet, his skin vaguely reminiscent of paper. He avoided everyone's gaze as he fidgeted with a corner of Yana's covers.

"Jim," Doctor McCoy said, his voice betraying a mixture of understanding and chastisement.

The Captain did not reply; he looked as if he regretted speaking in the first place.

Yana continued to gaze at him steadily, her eyes still running over with moisture. There was another moment of silence. Then,

"I'm sorry," Yana said softly.

Captain Kirk, whose eyes had been fixed on some point very far away, turned his head in her direction, and, for a moment, made an utterly useless attempt at a smile; achieving only a kind of vacant grimace, he seemed to realize that his facial muscles would not allow any show of contentment at the moment and settled his expression instead in a slightly less pronounced frown.

"It was a long time ago," he muttered, trying, and failing, to sound like it no longer had an impact on his life. He straightened up. "I need to return to the Bridge," he said, his tone at once businesslike. He looked at Yana. "Let Doctor McCoy know if you need something. And if you remember anything, let us know."

With that, he turned and walked swiftly out of the room. Doctor McCoy turned to Spock with a worried frown.

"See that he's alright, will you?"

Spock looked at the Doctor and nodded. He then strode swiftly out of Sickbay. He turned left and hurried along the corridor. The Captain had said that he intended to return to the Bridge, but Spock knew that Captain Kirk would not wish to be seen by his crew before he had regained his composure, so Spock headed towards the Captain's quarters.

He caught up with his Captain not one minute later. He was walking rigidly towards his quarters, his shoulders tense, his hands clenched into fists. He turned as he heard someone approach, but, perceiving Spock, merely turned back.

"I need a minute, Spock," he said dismissively.

Spock walked swiftly after him and put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "Captain –" he started, but he was abruptly interrupted as the Captain turned. Spock's hand fell to his side.

"I said I need a minute," Captain Kirk snapped, his gaze directed at Spock's left shoulder, as if he would not, or could not, meet the Vulcan's eye.

He turned and disappeared into his quarters, and Spock found himself staring at the white front of a closed door. Spock remained standing in this attitude for the duration of approximately one minute before he arrived at the conclusion that the Captain's stated "minute" probably incorporated a longer time span than the customary sixty seconds. Still, Spock did not move. From within he could hear faint sounds, and, almost unconsciously, he stepped closer to the door, which remained shut. The Captain must have locked it. Several minutes passed by while Spock battled with himself. Finally he raised a hand and knocked sharply on the door. The sound rang strangely through the empty corridor. The sounds inside the room ceased abruptly and were replaced by clear indications of movement. Spock waited. A moment later the door slid open and the Captain emerged, his face drawn, his eyes dry but red-rimmed. His face and posture expressed fatigue and marked irritation.

"What, Spock?" he said curtly. "I told you I needed a minute."

By Spock's calculations, the Captain had, in fact, had approximately seven point three minutes, but Spock did not feel it was necessary or helpful to point this out.

"You are distressed," he said instead.

The Captain closed his eyes for a moment, then he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Spock with exasperation etched in every line of his face.

"I'm not in the mood for stating the obvious right now," he said irritably. "Go back to the Bridge. Do your job. I'll be up in … a little while."

And, once more, the door slid shut, hiding the Captain from view. Spock hesitated for another moment, then he turned and strode swiftly to the nearest turbolift. Once the doors shut behind him he allowed himself a brief moment of weakness, leaning back against the wall and lifting a long-fingered hand to gently rub his forehead, which, though it was not precisely causing him pain, seemed to be buzzing with some unconscious activity.

His plan of distancing himself from the Captain had long since failed, and he was growing more and more convinced that it was simply impossible for him to be around the man without wishing to be in his intimate confidence. He could not see him and not want to touch him. He could not recognize Jim's pain without feeling the need to alleviate it. He knew Jim saw Spock as a friend, but Spock could not be a friend to him while his emotions were so wildly unmanageable. Spock's decision to leave had already been firmly imprinted in his mind, but every day, every moment he shared with the Captain, only increased his conviction that it was not only the right, but the only, thing to do. His insecurities confused and hurt his friend as much as they frustrated himself.

He straightened up and placed his hands behind his back. He would commence inquiries today. He had, for quite some time, wished to become better acquainted with the Vulcan Science Academy. His expertise in the field of science was formidable, but he knew there were many who were much more knowledgeable than him; there was always plenty to learn. Perhaps he would commence some course of study. Or perhaps he could teach.

The turbolift doors slid open and he stepped out onto the Bridge. Mr. Scott, seeing him, vacated the center chair.

"There are some minor problems down in Engineering," he said as Spock approached. "Now you're back, I'll get on down there and see what I can do to fix them."

The Chief Engineer did not look worried, but after everything that had happened over the course of the last days, it would be foolish not to treat every inconsistency with gravity. Therefore, Spock asked,

"What is the nature of these problems?"

Mr. Scott shook his head with an expression of nonchalance. "The interference at the space station seems to have caused some of our instrumentation to lag. Like I said, it's nothing serious. I've already checked the main components, and they're perfectly fine. I just think the systems need some tweaking."

Spock nodded. "I would urge you to be certain, Mr. Scott," he said.

"Of course," the Chief Engineer responded. He left the Bridge, and Spock, instead of sitting down in the Captain's chair, moved over to the Science Station, where he relieved the ensign on duty and sat down before his console.

His instrumentation was still trained on the trail of antiproton residue they were following, and he set to watching the numbers, eyes peeled for signs of irregularities. Naturally, the amounts of residue varied constantly, however, sudden surges or drops in activity might tell them something about their proximity to the enemy vessel, or any changes in direction the vessel made. The work was tiring and frustrating, based largely on assumption and guesswork. Spock did not like it. He liked to _know_ what he was doing, not sit making constant approximations.

Half an hour passed before the Captain returned to the Bridge. He walked calmly in, looking perfectly collected, perhaps aside from a slight shadow encircling his eyes. He acknowledged Spock with a brief glance, then sat down in his chair, taking a moment to assess the situation on the Bridge before frowning.

"Where's Scotty?" he said, his eyes moving around the room and settling on Spock.

"There were some irregularities in the Engineering section," Spock responded. "When I returned to the Bridge, Mr. Scott elected to go down there in order to personally review the difficulties and attempt to repair them."

Captain Kirk lifted a hand to his forehead and rubbed it slowly. "What irregularities?" he said sharply.

"According to Mr. Scott, they were minor, and nothing to be concerned about. Apparently some of the instrumentation developed some slowness after the interference we encountered at Starbase 15. Mr. Scott is, as mentioned, looking into it, and I bid him make certain that his conjectures were accurate."

Captain Kirk let his hand drop to his side, and leaned back in his chair. "Good," he said simply.

The next few hours passed without incident. Spock, who had been staring at his computer almost the entire time, in the hope of making some discovery, was just about to allow his increasingly tired eyes a small pause when his antiproton readings suddenly and unexpectedly spiked.

"Captain," he said immediately. Captain Kirk, probably perceiving the urgency in Spock's tone, rose swiftly from his chair, moving towards him as Spock continued, "My scanners read a sudden upsurge in the antiproton activity we have been monitoring." The Captain stopped behind Spock and, one hand on the Vulcan's console, leaned over to take a look. "It might indicate that we are approaching the enemy vessel."

"Or else that _it_ is approaching us," the Captain muttered darkly. He straightened up and hurried back to his chair. "Shields up," he ordered, sitting down.

Ensign Chekov hastened to obey. "Shields are up, Sir," he confirmed.

"I'm putting the ship on yellow alert," Captain Kirk continued, pressing the appropriate button on his console. "Uhura, give me a ship-wide frequency."

The Lieutenant did as she was told. "Frequency open, Sir," she said.

Kirk pressed the comm. button on his console. "This is the Captain speaking," he said. "I want all hands at battle stations, immediately. We have reason to believe we might be closing in on the enemy vessel. Make yourselves ready. Kirk out."

He ended the transmission and pressed a another button. "Scotty," he said briskly.

"Scotty here," piped the Scotsman, alert.

"I want us ready to move out of range as fast as possible. Have you managed to fix the problem with the instrumentation?"

Mr. Scott's voice sounded apologetic as it emanated from the comm. "I'm pretty sure the system needs a reboot, Sir. I cannae do that while the ship is travelling at warp speeds. It would destabilize the warp core reactor."

Captain Kirk closed his eyes for a moment, breathing slowly. "And any reboot would momentarily take out weapons control and shields," he said, in low tones.

"Aye, Sir."

The Captain turned his head to look at Spock. "Any chance of determining how far we are from the alien vessel?" he asked, his figure poised and alert. Spock turned his eyes back to his scanner, searching for signs of the ship itself, but if the vessel truly was approaching, or if they were closing in on it, the aliens must, as the Enterprise crew had previously speculated, have some sort of cloaking device; Spock's antiproton readings were increasing rapidly, but he could make out no other sign that anything was out here besides themselves, nor could he have any hope of attempting to approximate their distance from the other ship.

"Regrettably, Captain, as long as the enemy vessel is untraceable to our scanners, there does not seem to be any way for us to –"

"What about tracing the antiproton residue to its source?"

It was Ensign Chekov who spoke. He had turned around in his seat, and was looking from the Captain to Spock with a slightly wide-eyed expression.

The Captain frowned. "How do you mean?"

But Spock thought he understood. "You are suggesting we simply follow the trail to its end," he said, looking at the Ensign and feeling a considerable twinge of irritation that this essentially simple idea had not occurred to him.

The Ensign nodded excitedly. The Captain, and several other crew members, retained matching frowns on their faces.

"Isn't that what we've been doing?" Lieutenant Uhura asked.

"No!" Ensign Chekov responded. "Well, yes, sort of. But the antiproton residue gets stronger the closer to it we get – so, now that the other ship seems to be getting closer to us, we can widen the scanning area and search specifically for antiprotons. It should hone in on the spot with the most activity."

"Which should be right around the alien ship," the Captain concluded, sudden understanding alighting on his face.

"Yes," Chekov responded.

The Captain turned to Spock, who immediately refocused on his scanner, entering the valid data into his console and watching carefully for the coordinates the computer would, hopefully, provide. Naturally, this information would not exactly provide them with a precise location of the vessel, nor would it be incontestable. If the unknown aliens decided to attack, the scanners would instantly zero in on the antiproton beam, which would tell them little except approximately how many seconds they had left to live.

"Spock, anything?" the Captain said, his impatience evident in his tone.

Spock, bent over his console, answered calmly, "Captain, we must give the computer time to –" He stopped abruptly as a set of numbers popped up on the computer screen. "Approximation of enemy vessel's location at coordinates 103 mark 6. It appears to be moving towards us at roughly warp one."

"How long before they're upon us?"

"Our two vessels will meet in approximately eight minutes and thirty-two seconds."

Captain Kirk tapped his fingers restlessly on his armrest, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

"How well can our shields hold up against those antiproton beams?" he asked, after a moment's tense consideration.

"We have as of yet been unable to accurately measure the force of these beams," Spock responded. "However, any weapon utilizing antiprotons is, as we have experienced, formidable. Our shields are strong, however I am not certain –"

"When we were attacked on Silicah," the Captain interrupted him in a frustrated tone, "we were hit with a blast of this stuff, as you might recall. Was no one able to make any kind of measurement of the strength of the aliens' weapon?"

He looked from Spock to the crew in general.

"You might remember, Captain, that I was with you at the time, and had no greater opportunity of taking measurements than you had," Spock said calmly, "being somewhat occupied with my attempt at not falling of the mountain."

"And, as Scotty told you, we were taken by surprise," Lieutenant Sulu said. "The alien ship seemed to come out of nowhere, and it blocked all our signals."

Captain Kirk's shoulders tensed so that they formed a rigidly straight line. "I am aware of this," he said testily. "But we are closing fast on this unknown vessel –"

"Or _it_ is closing on us," Ensign Chekov inserted, his eyes on the viewscreen, where the vast expanse of apparently empty space was looking more and more foreboding the closer they travelled towards the enemy they could not see, the unknown foe they knew was out there, somewhere straight ahead.

"Yes, thank you Chekov," the Captain snapped. "I simply wish to know how long our shields could withstand a weapon of the magnitude we have witnessed. Any ideas, calculations … guesses?"

His eyes once more moved to Spock, who felt a sense of frustration mingling with a sudden and inexplicable fondness. Venturing into the waters of pure speculation was much more agreeable when he knew that Jim Kirk favored Spock's on-the-spot conjectures to the thought-out, scientific analyses of others. Spock felt the corner of his mouth turn up minutely, as he failed to entirely suppress the feeling of satisfaction which, despite their precarious situation, was illogically making itself impossible to ignore.

"As you know, Captain," he said, feeling some pretence at protest was necessary, "I do not habitually _guess_."

The Captain rolled his eyes. "Well, I don't habitually go toe-to-toe with an enemy I can't see," he said impatiently, "so I'd say this is a day for exceptions."

Spock suppressed another smile. "Very well," he conceded. "Antiprotons are so destructive because any collision with a proton, the matter with which much of our vessel and its weaponry is built, will cause both particles, and all that they encompass, to be annihilated in a burst of energy. Our shields, which contain a high concentration of gravitons, deflect energy by gravitating it away from the ship. Theoretically, we therefore have two conflicting theses. It is possible that our shields, when hit by a beam of antiprotons, will perform as they always do. It is also possible that the encounter between the matter and antimatter will cause a massive explosion. This depends entirely on how concentrated the aliens' antiproton beams are. Most such weapons combine antiprotons with other matter, and if this is the case, our shields do have a possibility of holding up, at least for a little while."

Captain Kirk stood up. "But even if the shields do hold up, an antiproton beam is such a formidable weapon that we cannot expect them to survive for long," he reasoned.

"No, Captain," Spock agreed. "I do not believe we can hope to take more than one, maybe two, direct hits."

The Captain clenched his jaw, his arms stiff at his sides. He bent down and pressed a finger to the intercom on his armrest and hailed Mr. Scott.

"Scotty, what's our present reaction speed?"

There was a slight scramble on the other end before the Chief Engineer responded. "Sorry, Captain, I was runnin' some tests. Present reaction speed, Sir?"

"Yes."

"It's difficult to say."

Captain Kirk sighed. "I had a feeling you might say that," he said. "What can you tell me?"

"Well," the Scotsman responded, "at the moment, our reaction speed is diminished. As I mentioned, I believe the system simply needs a reboot, but we cannae do that without –"

"Leaving the ship vulnerable, I know," the Captain cut him off. "How long would this reboot take?"

"Ah, the ship would be up and running in about half an hour, Sir."

Captain Kirk shook his head. "That won't do. We'll simply have to take our chances. Be on the alert, Scotty. I want this ship prepared to jump out of here, lag or no lag."

"Aye, Sir."

The Captain looked at Spock, and then out of the viewscreen. His jaw was set, his eyes alight with determination. Spock did not need to hear Jim Kirk say the words to know that the Captain would give everything he could to go after these aliens. Spock knew it would be his duty to regulate the situation.

"Spock, time until encounter?" the Captain inquired.

"Approximately five minutes and forty-two seconds, Captain."

"Chekov." Captain Kirk turned to the Ensign. "I want photon torpedoes armed and ready. Spock, provide present coordinates for the center of the antiproton activity. Be as precise as you can manage."

"Yes, Captain," Spock responded. He relayed the coordinates to Ensign Chekov's console. "Coordinates ready," he said.

"Chekov, lock torpedoes on those coordinates, and hold them steady."

The Ensign hastened to obey, a fine sheen of sweat visible on his brow. "Torpedoes locked and ready, Sir," he said.

"Good. Wait for my signal. Uhura," he turned to the Communications Officer. "Play this message on all frequencies, and in all known languages and codes."

Lieutenant Uhura nodded, and Captain Kirk sat down in his chair. "Frequencies open and ready, sir," the Lieutenant said after a few, short moments.

The Captain seemed to steel himself.

"To unknown alien vessel," he said in a clear and commanding tone Spock could not help but admire. "This is Captain James Kirk, of the Federation starship Enterprise. Request identification."

They waited. Spock personally doubted, judging by the actions of these aliens, that they were the type of creatures often enticed into friendly conversation. However, it would be illogical to entirely categorize a species based on such limited knowledge, so Spock kept an open mind. The Captain's frown was growing more and more pronounced, his eyes intense as they stared out of the viewscreen as if nothing else were present. After roughly half a minute of waiting, Captain Kirk tried again.

"Hailing unknown enemy vessel, this is Captain James Kirk requesting that you identify yourself."

Again, somewhat predictably, there was no response.

"Perhaps we don't have any record of their language," Lieutenant Uhura suggested.

"Or maybe they just don't want to communicate," Captain Kirk countered, leaning back in his chair. "Uhura, hail the Donovan. Get me Captain Jordan."

"Yes, Sir."

The Lieutenant flicked some switches on her console and pressed a finger to her ear. A few moments later, the voice of the Donovan's Captain rang across the comm.

"Captain Kirk," he said slowly. "Is everything alright? We're not scheduled to rendezvous for another fourteen hours."

"I know," Captain Kirk responded quickly. "We're coming up on the alien vessel, and it seems like a hostile confrontation will be unavoidable."

Spock noted that the Captain did not seem at all unhappy about this fact. He could hear the frown in Captain Jordan's voice as the other Captain answered,

"I must remind you that you promised to make every attempt at avoiding conflict, Captain Kirk."

"They do not respond to our attempts at communication," Captain Kirk responded, very clearly unfazed by Captain Jordan's reminder of his former promise.

"So you have decided to go in guns blazing," Captain Jordan said, his tone laced with disapproval.

"We can either run away or defend ourselves," Captain Kirk responded, which, in Spock's mind, did not quite answer the other Captain's question.

"Kirk –" Captain Jordan started, but apparently Captain Kirk had not had a long conversation in mind when he hailed the Donovan.

"I just wanted to let you know about our situation," he said curtly. "We'll be very grateful for your assistance as quickly as you can get here."

There was a very telling silence on the other end. Spock knew enough about human behavior, perhaps particularly the behavioral patterns of human _males_, to know that Captain Jordan would not be happy with this dismissive response. A human phrase involving the not entirely eloquent term _pissing _sprang, unbidden, to Spock's mind. Highly illogical though this expression appeared to him, he nevertheless thought it might just be relevant to the situation.

"I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't advise you not to go up against this thing alone," Captain Jordan said after a tense pause.

Captain Kirk's face was immobile. "Your warning is noted," he said tonelessly. "Kirk out."

Spock felt this would be a practical time to voice his concern that the Captain was taking this mission a little too personally, however, one glance at his computer informed him that they were quickly running out of time, so he would have to defer his advice to a later time.

"Two minutes, thirteen seconds until encounter," he announced.

Captain Kirk spun around in his seat, meeting Spock's gaze briefly before turning to the helmsman.

"Mr. Sulu, on my mark, take us slowly down to impulse speed," he ordered.

"Yes, Sir," the Lieutenant responded.

The atmosphere on the Bridge was tense. Spock did not think it at all likely that they would come away from this encounter in one piece, and it was evident that several of the crew members were thinking along the same lines. Ensign Chekov, his hands stiff on his console, was shifting his eyes between the view screen and the switch that engaged the photon torpedoes. Over at the Engineering Station, Lieutenant Wilson, a tall, red-headed man, was working ardently, every once in a while receiving directions from Mr. Scott, who was still down in Engineering. Spock moved his eyes to the Captain, who was sitting on the edge of his seat, his back tense.

"One minute, twenty-one seconds, Captain," Spock informed him. Captain Kirk nodded where he sat, his attention fixed straight ahead.

"All right, Sulu," he said, "slow her down, now."

The helmsman decreased speed. Spock watched his screen.

"Uhura, try to get me in contact with the alien vessel again," the Captain said, and the Lieutenant swiftly complied. "To unknown vessel," the Captain said again, "this is Captain Kirk, of the Federation starship Enterprise. Identify yourself."

As before, there was no reply.

"You have attacked one of our Starbases, as well as this ship and its crew, and we demand to know who you are."

The Captain turned to the Communications Officer with an expression that seemed to include both expectation and hopelessness.

"I am not receiving any indication of a reply, Sir," Lieutenant Uhura said, "however, the signal seems to be going through to … _somewhere_. I believe they are getting our message."

Captain Kirk turned back around and focused his eyes out of the viewscreen, his nostrils flaring. He breathed slowly, presumably to calm himself down. He once more pressed the comm. button on his console.

"Alien vessel, I am giving you fair warning," he said, his voice loud and firm. "If you do not cease your hostile activities and identify yourself, we will have no choice but to open fire."

Spock frowned as he regarded the Captain. "I am not certain that commencing hostilities against the alien vessel is a wise choice, Captain," he advised.

Captain Kirk turned to him. "What other choice do we have?"

"The vessel is clearly moving towards us," Spock replied, "which, in my view, must mean that it wants something with us. We could turn about and allow it to follow us until we come within range of the Donovan. It would be useful not to be alone against an enemy with such a formidable weapon."

The Captain shook his head. "Our mission is to seek out alien life forms, not run away from them," he responded, somewhat harshly. "There is no way to know that the alien ship will not simply increase speed and catch us anyway, or else turn about themselves and be lost to us. This is our chance to find out who they are."

_And make them pay for what they did_ hung, unspoken, in the air.

Spock did not think further argument would serve towards anything but slowing their progress, so he desisted. He inclined his head briefly towards the Captain and turned back to his station.

"Warp one," Mr. Sulu said then.

"New time estimate, Mr. Spock," the Captain requested.

Spock regarded his screen. The Enterprise's decrease in speed would have afforded them a little more time before the encounter. "Five minutes, twelve seconds," Spock replied.

"Their speed?"

"I read no change; it appears they are maintaining warp one."

Captain Kirk frowned pensively and put two fingers to his forehead, rubbing it slowly. "Mr. Chekov," he said, after a moment's pause, "how long until we're in firing range?"

Mr. Chekov checked his statistics. "With photon torpedoes, approximately two minutes, Sir," he answered.

"Ok," the Captain said, in a decisive tone. "If the alien vessel has not responded within that time, I want you to take your best aim into the middle of whatever is out there, and fire off a torpedo."

Captain Kirk looked meaningfully at Ensign Chekov, who swallowed nervously. "Captain, are you sure we should attack them?" he asked tentatively. The Captain eyed Mr. Chekov with a frown. "They seem very good at destroying things," the Ensign explained, moving uncomfortably in his seat.

The Captain regarded him for a moment before replying. "That's why we're attacking now," he said. "The farther away we are, the lower the risk to ourselves."

Spock, despite his decision to let the discussion lie, could not avoid commenting on this. "Captain," he said. "I would not be performing adequately as your First Officer if I did not mention the inherent flaws in this plan." Captain Kirk looked at him with raised eyebrows. "My primary concern is that it is entirely possible the other ship's weapons have just as long a range as ours do, which, naturally, will eliminate the advantage of –"

"Yes, thank you, Spock," the Captain cut him off, waving an impatient hand in his direction. "What do you suggest, then?"

"My suggestion remains the same," Spock replied calmly.

"Wait for the Donovan?"

"Yes."

Captain Kirk gritted his teeth. "Well, we don't have time for that." He breathed slowly through his nose. "I'm not going to risk losing these creatures, Spock," he said in low, intense tones.

Spock glanced around at the Bridge crew, all of whom were looking nervous as they concentrated on their various tasks. He moved closer to the Captain and spoke softly.

"I fear you are making this personal," he said frankly.

Captain Kirk's expression was decidedly dissatisfied as he turned his eyes on Spock. "Of course it's personal," he hissed quietly. "Whoever these aliens are, they killed the crew of an entire Starbase. They killed Mallory. They fired on me and my crew and almost killed my –" He stopped abruptly and turned his eyes briefly in the opposite direction. Perhaps Spock imagined the slight blush around the Captains cheekbones as he looked back towards him, nevertheless Spock's hands throbbed unpleasantly. He fastened them safely behind his back, although he was unable to keep his lips from twitching slightly downwards.

"I can't avoid my personal involvement," the Captain continued, as if the little, unpleasant pause had not occurred, "but this is, first and foremost, official. Starfleet has ordered us to arrest and interrogate these creatures, and I have every intention of following Starfleet's orders." Spock opened his mouth to argue, but Captain Kirk cut him off. "I am _not_ allowing them to destroy any more people. This is not just about us and this ship. This is about all the races and people who might suffer if we don't take this chance to stop these attackers. Besides, if we were to turn our ship around every time we came face to face with something potentially dangerous, we would never have made it past Mars."

The Captain's eyes were alive with fervor, however his tone contained something which seemed to Spock to be searching for approval. Spock did not know that he could give it to him. However, once more, he conceded defeat.

"Very well, Captain," he said, with the merest shrug of his shoulders. "I have voiced my concerns."

"Yes, thank you, Spock," Captain Kirk replied, averting his eyes.

Spock returned to his station.

"Uhura," Kirk said briskly, "you are still sending my message on all frequencies?"

Lieutenant Uhura nodded. "Yes, Sir," she replied.

"And there is still no indication of a reply?"

As if to reassure herself, the Lieutenant pressed a finger to her earpiece, then she shook her head. "I am afraid not, Sir."

Captain Kirk turned to Chekov. "Ensign, you have your orders," he said.

Mr. Chekov breathed slowly. "Yes, Sir," he replied, his tone somewhat lacking in enthusiasm.

Spock was no less reluctant to fire blindly towards an enemy who might very possibly be powerful enough to destroy their entire ship with one shot. However, although parts of his rational thought objected to this, he also knew that the Captain's view of the situation was, although colored by his personal involvement, if not infallible, then at least valid. Letting this vessel go might prove equally dangerous. After all, the lives of one ship's crew could not compare to the lives of millions of others across the galaxy.

"Photon torpedoes locked on … middle of antiproton activity," Mr. Chekov said, with a skeptical frown.

Captain Kirk's eyes were fierce as he looked out of the viewscreen, and his voice was eerily soft as he said,

"Fire."

A bolt of energy shot out of the Enterprise's underside, and flew swiftly forwards. For several, tense seconds the Bridge crew was completely silent. Every person seemed to be holding his breath. Spock's eyes were the only ones moving, as they shifted between the viewscreen and his console. Then, at a spot thousands of kilometers away, the torpedo exploded in a blast of energy. Captain Kirk sat up rigidly in his chair just as Spock refocused his eyes on his screen, where a sudden fluctuation in energy revealed that the torpedo had actually made contact with something. Spock raised his eyebrows as he turned towards the Captain, who was watching him with an expectant expression.

"That looked like a hit," he said breathlessly. "What do your instruments show?"

"It would appear the torpedo –" Spock started, but was abruptly cut off as the ship was rocked by a violent blast, which, like before, appeared to come out of nowhere.

Prepared for eventualities, all the Bridge crew managed, despite the bucking of the vessel, to remain in their seats.

"Red alert!" Captain Kirk called, jamming his finger down onto the button. "Shields! Give me shield statistics!"

The Ensign over by the Engineering Station scrambled to read the information on his screen. "Shields are holding!" he shouted.

"Spock!" the Captain called hastily. "How close are we?"

Spock shook his head. "The closer the two ships are to each other, the more difficult it is to pinpoint the location of the other vessel. However, the initial countdown would indicate that there is still approximately one minute twelve seconds left until our two vessels meet. Unless the other vessel has dramatically increased its speed –"

"Spock!" the Captain interrupted, sounding slightly strained. "Skip the lesson – just tell me how close we are!"

Spock raised an eyebrow and repressed a wave of annoyance. "I estimate that our two vessels are still several thousand kilometers apart."

"Are we in phaser range?"

Had Spock been human, he would have chosen this time to roll his eyes. As it were, he settled for a frown. "There is no way to make an estimate with any degree of precision," he replied, keeping his tone as even as possible. Captain Kirk made a frustrated noise. "I would suggest simply trying," Spock said calmly. "It seems the only logical alternative."

Captain Kirk took only one, short moment to consider this, then he said, "Fire phasers! Now!"

Before Ensign Chekov could obey this command, however, another blast shook the Enterprise, and they were all forced to grab onto something in order to remain in their chairs. The Ensign on duty at the Engineering Station, having been completely immersed in the shield readings, was thrown from his seat onto the floor. As soon as the ship stopped quaking, Captain Kirk jumped from his seat and, bending over Ensign Chekov's station, fired a phaser straight ahead. They could see the light streaking into the darkness, and then, after an alarmingly short pause, it collided with something; the even expanse of space was disrupted as the outline of the enemy vessel became momentarily visible. It was dangerously close to their own. Spock hastily consulted his computer and, for the first time, managed to get a reading on the enemy ship itself. A few seconds passed before he noticed the other vessel's speed.

"Captain!" he said, turning swiftly around. "The enemy vessel is still coming towards us at warp one – unless we turn the Enterprise away, we have only one minute, thirteen seconds before our two ships collide."

Captain Kirk swore and rushed back to his seat. "Sulu, can you maneuver us out of here?" he asked urgently.

The helmsman shook his head, clearly distressed. "I can't turn her that fast, Captain!" he said. "We need more time!"

Without delay, the Captain punched his fist down on the intercom button. "Scotty!" he said loudly. "I need you to put us in reverse. Immediately."

Scotty sounded decidedly harassed as he responded. "I cannae do it instantly, Captain; I need a minute to –"

"We don't have a minute!" Captain Kirk interrupted him hurriedly, his voice strained. "Do whatever you have to, just get us moving backwards! If you don't, we're going to be very dead in about one minute!"

"So no pressure or anything," Sulu muttered darkly, his fingers flying over his controls as he tried to make the Enterprise swerve left as swiftly as possible. Little beads of sweat were forming near his hairline, his face intense with concentration.

A flash of light preceded a new jolt, which ran through the Enterprise, creating a sound reminiscent of a dull hum. The ship did not so much shake this time, as vibrate.

"Chekov!" the Captain shouted. "Keep firing! And Ensign –" He turned towards the Engineering Station "– keep me updated on the shields! Scotty!" he said, once more hammering the intercom button with what Spock would determine unwonted hostility. "How are we doing down there?"

"Fifteen seconds, Captain!" the Scotsman replied breathlessly.

Captain Kirk took a deep breath. "We really know how to cut it close, don't we?" he said to the room at large. "Sulu –" He looked at the helmsman "– how quickly are we turning?"

"Not quickly enough," Mr. Sulu replied, "but I'm doing my best."

"Spock, any estimates?" the Captain inquired, turning to him.

"Approximately thirty-eight seconds to impact, Captain," Spock answered.

Captain Kirk groaned and turned towards the Engineering Station. "Shields?" he asked briskly.

"Holding up at 89 percent," the Ensign on duty responded.

"Thirty seconds," Spock informed.

"Reverse thrusters ready and working, Sir!" Mr. Scott's voice declared across the intercom.

Captain Kirk breathed. "Good man, Scotty," he said. "Sulu, reverse now. Put some distance between us and that ship."

"Aye Sir," Mr. Sulu responded, and there was a grinding noise as the Enterprise's engines were put in reverse.

Spock, his eyes on his computer screen, was feeling slightly less than optimistic about this. By his calculations, it would take a small miracle for this vessel to move backwards quickly enough not to in some way collide with the alien ship. Spock did not generally believe in miracles. He moved swiftly over to the Captain and placed a hand on the back of his chair.

"Captain," he said in low tones. "It is not sufficient. We cannot turn swiftly enough in order to avoid a collision."

Captain Kirk looked at him with a tense expression. "Is there any possibility that our shields will soften the blow?" he asked.

Spock shook his head. "Our shields are made chiefly to protect the hull from bursts of energy, not to deflect large, metal objects," he responded. "The damage might be slightly lessened, but not in any material way."

For one, extremely tense moment, Captain Kirk held Spock's gaze, his eyes clear and focused. Then he once more sprang from his chair and moved over to Mr. Sulu.

"How much have we managed to turn?" he asked, looking out of the viewscreen, and then down at the helmsman's instruments.

Mr. Sulu frowned. "We've turned approximately twelve degrees to the left, but since we're reversing, we're flying –" he started. Captain Kirk hastily interrupted him.

"Angle us to the left," he ordered.

The helmsman looked at Captain Kirk with a confused expression. "But that would expose our engines to –"

"Precisely," the Captain said, and Spock suddenly understood what he was doing. The Vulcan found himself impressed with Captain Kirk's logic. "We'll expose the engines, and rescue the saucer section."

Mr. Sulu continued to frown. "I'm not sure –" he started, but the Captain cut him off sharply.

"Do as I say," he said. "Now!"

The Helmsman obeyed, and slowly but surely, the Enterprise veered left. Spock, who had moved back to his console, checked his computer and instantly took his seat.

"Impact imminent," he stated, and the rest of the Bridge crew sat down as well.

Captain Kirk was the last to sit down. "Hold on," he said, his shoulders tense as the ripple in space came closer and closer until –

A resounding crash rent the air as the alien vessel slammed into the side of the Enterprise. There was a hectic scrambling as they were all swallowed in darkness. Then everything was still.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Forgive me?

It's a mean cliff hanger, I know. I'm sorry. Judin nearly throttled me the first time she read this. And you're going to have to wait for the next installment a lot longer than she had to.

But, I hope you've enjoyed this story so far, and I will be a diligent little writer-bee and finish this story, so that you can read it as soon as possible. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far - there aren't that many of you, but you're awesome! You all make my day.

Until October, then!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Hey, guys! Long time no see! Sorry for the long wait. But, you know, such is life. At least, such is life when life is insanely busy and you can hardly find time to breathe, much less write fanfiction. This semester, I've started my MA degree in English literature, and I'm taking too many classes (because I'm insane, and because they're awesome), plus I've started working in the student radio, I've got choir, AFS, various committees, piano, and a veritable butt-load of other things as well. So I'm busy. As usual.

Anyway, I've decided to update only every other week, so that I have a chance of finishing some chapters before it's time to post them. I'm currently working on Chapter 14 - I know, I should have gotten a lot further by now, but I've just had way too much to do. The summer vacation was not so much a vacation as a chance to work. A lot. So that I could buy food. And pay rent. Both of which are, as it turns out, kind of necessary to, you know, live.

But I'm talking too much. Here's Chapter 11. Enjoy!

(As always, my beta Judin makes the world go round.)

* * *

><p>"I warned you not to go up against that thing without backup."<p>

Kirk crossed his arms over his chest and tried not to look too petulant. Captain Jordan, who, much to Kirk's frustration, was several inches taller than him, was looking down on him with stern, unyielding eyes. He seemed at the same time angry and smug, as if his expression were trying to say, _Yes, I'm frustrated with your actions, but I'm also feeling a sense of accomplishment in my own superiority._

They were standing in one of the conference rooms on the Donovan, the Enterprise in tow, and the short hour they had so far spent on this ship had already served to drive Kirk to the brink of insanity. He hated this. Hated it. He loathed not being in charge, and he loathed being treated like a disobedient child. Most of all, however, he hated the fact that Captain Jordan was right to be angry. Somewhere inside Kirk, a tiny voice he was trying very hard to ignore, was confirming this. He had jumped into the situation without being properly prepared, and he had put his ship, and the lives of his crew, in danger.

Truthfully, Kirk had not felt this small since he had had to face Christopher after realizing that the then Captain would, due to Kirk's mistake, not be able to return to his home. However, he took care to maintain eye contact; he was not going to be intimidated, or shamed, by this man. At least not outwardly. His own conscience was quite sufficient.

"I saw a chance to capture that vessel, and I took it," he said curtly, taking care to keep his voice as even as possible. "I'm sure that if you were in my shoes, you wouldn't want to let the aliens that destroyed an entire Starbase just fly off into the stars."

Captain Jordan's frown deepened; a pronounced crease formed between his grey eyebrows, making him look something like a strict schoolmaster. "I should hope my years of experience have taught me better than that," he said, and Kirk promptly repressed the urge to punch him in the face. "You are young for a Starfleet captain," Jordan continued. "You are temperamental and stubborn, and had you listened to my advice, we could have avoided this catastrophe."

Kirk felt his face burning with rage. He opened his mouth to speak, but, to his surprise, Spock cut him to the chase.

"With all due respect, Captain," the Vulcan said, his eyes on Jordan, "you are addressing a Starfleet Captain, and I would bid you remember that."

Captain Jordan looked momentarily like he had gotten a bad case of lock-jaw. "I – beg your pardon?" he said in strained tones.

Spock continued relentlessly, "You are addressing Captain Kirk as if he were an impetuous child, and despite his young years, I do not believe anything he has done merits such treatment."

The long, lanky form of Jordan seem to bristle. Kirk felt his heart swell and tried to keep the fondness in his expression to a minimum as he looked at Spock, who, apparently, was not quite finished.

"In years," he continued relentlessly, regarding Jordan just as passively as ever, "you are Captain Kirk's senior. However, I have taken the time to study your information, and in credentials, I believe Captain Kirk outranks you."

Every eye in the room flicked restlessly between Spock and Jordan, as if they were watching an interstellar tennis match. Jordan looked more than a little put out, and Kirk had to repress the urge to smirk.

"I am not saying," Spock went on, "that Captain Kirk did not act somewhat rashly. You will, however, find that the situation was a difficult one, and the Captain knew the opportunity to confront this hostile race might not come again, and, had he been successful, his actions might have prevented the loss of many lives."

Captain Jordan scowled. "But he _wasn't_ successful," he countered strictly, looking from Spock to Kirk. "The only thing he succeeded in doing was losing the trail and getting his starboard engine blasted into oblivion."

Kirk's inward smirk vanished as surely as if it had been forcibly wiped away. One of the things he had hated the most as a younger man, was when people had berated him while talking to him in the third person. He didn't know exactly why this grated him so much, it only seemed so endlessly condescending. He gritted his teeth to stop himself from pulling a face.

"I can assure you it was not my intention to damage my ship," he said, in low, guarded tones. "But sometimes you have to risk something to gain something."

Jordan shook his head, and Kirk's temper once more flared up.

"I did what I thought was best," he stated, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. "My crew was unharmed –"

"I believe the five crewmen lying in Sickbay with severe burns and breaks would beg to differ," Jordan interrupted, unrelentingly.

Doctor McCoy stepped forwards with a pronounced frown. "All those men will be perfectly fine," he said. "You're making mountains out of molehills."

Kirk turned to see Spock look at McCoy with a puzzled expression. "I'll explain later," Bones said, with a quick pat on the Vulcan's arm.

Jordan, for his part, was looking more and more dissatisfied with the situation. Kirk, his annoyance soothed by the support of his crew, faced the other Captain with renewed confidence.

"I have made my report to Starfleet, and I will defer to them the decision as to the correctness or error of my conduct," he said plainly. "I appreciate your help, and I'm very glad you're here, but I will not tolerate any more reprimands from you."

There was a tense moment, in which the two Captains glared at each other, then Jordan relaxed his face.

"Fine," he said, with a slight shrug. "But I hope you realize that I have also given Starfleet my report, and I will not hesitate to give them my honest opinion when they ask for it."

Kirk gritted his teeth. "You do that," he said curtly. "Meeting adjourned?" He made a motion towards the door.

"Wait," Jordan said, frowning. "Your ship has been very badly damaged – wouldn't your crew be more comfortable here? The Donovan has –"

"Thank you," Kirk cut him off, though he tried to do so in a polite tone of voice, "but hardly any of the crew quarters were damaged, and I think we all prefer to stay where we are."

Truthfully, the thought of staying onboard the Donovan made Kirk feel faintly nauseated, and he would do just about anything to avoid it. He turned to Scotty, who had spent the meeting standing at the back of the Enterprise group, looking mildly uncomfortable in a very good-natured sort of way.

"Scotty," he said, and the Scotsman perked up immediately.

"Aye, Sir."

"Life support and all other necessary systems are functioning normally, yes?"

The Chief Engineer gave him a wistful smile. "She's a perfect holiday resort, Sir," he said, his lilt slightly broken by what Kirk figured to be the thought of his beloved ship in her present state. "She doesn't fly, but she'll do just about anything else."

"Excellent," Kirk said as heartily as he could muster, although he was having some trouble not thinking of his ship as a baby with both its legs broken off. He repressed a wince and took a breath. "We'll stay on the Enterprise," he concluded.

Once more, Captain Jordan shrugged, looking at Kirk as if he were a particularly stubborn two year-old. "Very well," he said with a sigh. "Do as you please. You will remain in tow until we reach Starbase 16, which should be in about eleven hours."

"Good," Kirk responded, ignoring Jordan's expression as best he could, and turning again to Scotty. "They have a full refit system there, so you'll be able to fix her properly," he said, and the Chief Engineer seemed instantly to light up internally.

"Thank goodness!" he said breathlessly.

They left the Donovan soon after, Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Scotty and Uhura returning to the Enterprise in slightly dampened spirits. There was little they could do at present, although Scotty immediately hurried away to start repairing anything it was currently possible to put together. Kirk needed a break. He really needed a break. So he sent a message to the Bridge, leaving Sulu in charge while he headed towards Sickbay, thinking he would make a short stop by Yana and then visit Christopher. McCoy joined him as he walked down the halls. Spock, Kirk noticed, had left the transporter chamber almost as quickly as Scotty. Had Spock not been such a stickler for constant work and study, Kirk might have found the Vulcan's quick pace and determined expression more unsettling, but, as it were, he put it out of his mind.

In Sickbay, the five injured engine technicians were recovering well. More than ten hours had passed since the attack, and McCoy had seen to it that they were all bandaged and hypoed before he left for the Donovan. Two of them were asleep when Kirk and McCoy entered the room, the three others were sitting up in their beds, chatting animatedly and looking in very good health. Yana was also awake, and she, too, sat up in bed, not talking, but regarding the injured crew men with a quietly puzzled expression, as if she were seeing them from very far away. Christopher had also been moved in here, and lay in a bed in the far left corner of the room, apparently asleep.

The moment Kirk and McCoy were through the doors, the Doctor left to perform some checkups, and Kirk cautiously approached Yana. The situation had had more time to sink in, and he felt calmer now, but the sight of her still provided his stomach with a sick, unsettled feeling. He stopped quickly by the beds of his other crew, and commended them for their good work, before moving up to Yana.

It took her a moment to notice him. Her eyes were unblinking as she stared at the three chatting engine technicians. Kirk had moved right up to her side before she sensed his presence.

"Oh," she said when she saw him.

Kirk couldn't think of anything more original to say than, "How are you?"

She looked at him, still not blinking. "I'm fine," she said in a disturbingly detached tone.

According to McCoy, Yana had remained relatively calm during the confrontation. Looking at her now, Kirk understood that one could probably have fired off a canon straight at her head, and she wouldn't have flinched; she seemed to have gone into a state of shock. After a few moments, McCoy, having apparently finished with the others, wandered over, carrying a tricorder and a loaded hypo. He glanced briefly at the biofunction monitor and then passed the tricorder over Yana's form. Her eyes twitched to the Doctor's face, but otherwise she seemed hardly to have noticed.

McCoy sighed. "Acute stress reaction," he said. Kirk frowned. "Shock," the Doctor simplified, confirming Kirk's initial assumption.

Kirk turned towards him and spoke in low tones. "How do we help her?" he asked.

Bones shook his head. "Psychological shock is difficult because psychology is difficult," he said matter-of-factly. "I think that, right now, she needs to rest. Her vitals are finally stable enough for me to give her something to help her sleep."

He held up the hypo in his hand, and Kirk turned to see Yana eye it vacantly. Doctor McCoy moved past Kirk to Yana's side.

"This is going to help you relax," he said, and administered the drug to her right arm. Almost instantly, Yana sunk back against her pillows, her eyes sliding out of focus, and then her eyelids dropped shut. A moment later, the sound of deep, rhythmic breathing told them that she was fast asleep.

Kirk resisted the urge to ask McCoy to give _him_ some of that. He had other things to do at the moment. So instead, he left Bones' side and walked over to Christopher's bed.

The Cadet was very still in his bed, but the moment Kirk arrived at his side, Christopher sat bolt upright with an alert and inquisitive expression. Kirk grinned for the first time in several days. Christopher was reacting exactly as he himself would were he in the Cadet's situation. It was strange and wonderful to have a person so like him aboard his ship.

"So you haven't slept at all, have you?" Kirk said fondly.

"Are you kidding?" Christopher replied in a tone of mild outrage. "You seriously expect me to sleep through an alien attack?"

Kirk chortled. "No, I really don't."

"So what's going on?" Christopher said, sounding like he had been dying to ask this question for quite some time.

"Well, the Donovan has us in tow, and –"

"Yes, yes, I can hear the announcements," Christopher interrupted impatiently. "I mean, what are we doing about the aliens? Did they get away? Are they coming back? How bad is the damage to the ship?" He said all this very fast.

"Nothing at the moment. Yes. We don't know. Pretty bad," Kirk replied.

Christopher crossed his arms over his chest and fixed Kirk with an expression which plainly said that he was not amused. "Be serious," he said in that commanding tone of voice Kirk appreciated so much.

Kirk sighed. "The aliens are gone," he said. "We don't know where they went, and at the moment we don't have any hope of finding their trail unless they come back themselves."

"You don't think they will?"

Kirk shook his head. "Not if they have any sense, and, despite their obviously belligerent nature, I don't think they're unintelligent. We hit them, I know we did, and I don't think they were expecting that. And the fact that they flew right into us either means that we damaged them pretty badly, or that their navigational skills are exceptionally poor. My theory is that we managed to get in a pretty good hit, and that they, just like us, need to effect repairs before they can continue doing whatever it is they're doing."

Christopher was frowning. "So the whole 'flying right at them' thing was a bad idea then?"

Kirk rolled his eyes. "Well, we know more now than we did before," he said evasively.

"And you've destroyed your ship in the process," Christopher said bluntly.

Kirk winced. "The starboard engine is destroyed," he said, the words actually causing him physical pain as he thought of his injured ship. "But we'll be able to repair it. Starbase 16 has the necessary equipment and facilities."

"How long will that take?" Christopher asked.

Kirk shrugged. "Anywhere from two to six weeks. It depends on whether all the materials are in place, or if we need to have them shipped over, and it also depends on how bad the rest of the damage is. So far it seems like the rest of the ship is functioning relatively normally, but we have to make sure the impact didn't damage anything else."

Christopher raised his eyebrows. "You really have a knack for getting yourself into sticky situations, don't you?" he said, with an unmistakably smug tone.

Kirk frowned. "I think you're enjoying this a little too much."

Christopher smirked and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Well, just because I'm sleeping with you doesn't mean I don't still resent you," he said, with a wink.

Kirk looked at him. He knew the Cadet was teasing, and yet there was a definite layer of truth behind the humor. Christopher seemed to read his expression.

"I was joking," he said, with a small laugh.

Kirk smiled sadly. "No you weren't," he said quietly. "But that's ok. I know that what I did to you can't be easily forgiven."

Christopher looked at him for a long moment, then he crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. "You're right," he said thoughtfully. "I guess I haven't really forgiven you." He looked at Kirk with a kind of melancholy half-smile. "But I still like you, for what that's worth."

Kirk let out a small laugh and shook his head. "Yes, well, I'd hope so," he said in an undertone. "I would hate to think you were just using me."

Christopher glanced quickly over at the other beds, the occupants of which were still immersed in their own conversation, or else asleep, and then reached a up and, placing a hand on Kirk's neck and pulling him down, gave him a very brief kiss.

Kirk closed his eyes for a moment and felt the pleasantly excited sensation wash through him. It made for a nice change.

"When do you get out of here?" he said, trying not to sound too eager.

Christopher rolled his eyes and groaned. "The wicked witch of the west says not until tomorrow," he said.

"I heard that," a familiar voice announced grumpily. Kirk and Christopher turned to see McCoy standing by the edge of the bed. He took a look at Christopher's biofunction monitor and then turned a stern gaze on the Cadet, who smiled nervously. "How's your head?" McCoy asked, sounding supremely unconcerned.

"Fine," Christopher answered immediately.

McCoy frowned deeply. "Any pain?" he asked. Christopher hesitated. "You'd better be honest with me," McCoy warned.

The Cadet let out a frustrated sigh. "It still hurts," he admitted reluctantly.

Bones walked up to the head of the bed and ran his tricorder back and forth across Christopher's forehead. "Is there a specific place the pain is particularly bad?" he asked.

Christopher lifted a hand to his head and rubbed a spot behind his left temple. "Here," he said.

McCoy nodded and moved his tricorder to that area. "That's where the chief part of the damage was," he said. "Would you describe the pain as sharp or dull?"

"It's like a dull throbbing," the Cadet answered.

McCoy nodded again, apparently satisfied. "Good," he said. "All normal. You're healing very well." Christopher looked momentarily excited, but Bones shook his head with a small smirk. "The wicked witch of the west is still going to keep you here one more night," he said, the righteous enjoyment very plain in his voice.

For Christopher's sake, Kirk tried very hard not to laugh, but he failed. The Cadet, for his part, once more looked rather sulky.

"Don't worry," Kirk said good-humoredly. "You'll be out of here tomorrow."

"_If_ you behave yourself," McCoy added, pointing an appraising finger in the Cadet's direction.

Christopher leaned back against his pillows in a defeated manner. "Fine," he said.

Kirk patted him on the shoulder. "I have to go," he said. "But why don't you do some reading? I was thinking we could get you qualified as an Ensign soon. There's a small training facility on the Starbase, and you might be able to submit to the qualification tests there."

This information seemed to cheer Christopher up. Kirk left soon after. He decided to stop by Spock's quarters. The Vulcan had requested an hour's break, so Kirk was pretty sure he'd find him there.

The hallway leading to Spock's door was empty. Since there was little to do now that the Enterprise was temporarily out of commission, most of the crew had been given leave to get some rest. Consequently many of them were spending their time in the rec. areas, or otherwise in their quarters.

Kirk approached Spock's door, and it slid open, but Kirk stopped short. From inside, he could hear the sound of Spock's voice; he was talking to someone over the subspace transmitter. Kirk frowned.

"Thank you, Admiral," Spock said. "I would be grateful if you could tend to the matter with the utmost efficiency."

There was an indistinct sound from the other end. "You are quite determined, then?" the Admiral said.

Spock was quiet for a short moment. Then he replied, "My personal situation is such that it has become necessary."

Another short pause. "Very well," said the Admiral. "I will be in touch shortly."

"Thank you."

The ensuing silence led Kirk to believe that the transmission must have ended then. He only had a moment in which to wonder what this conversation could have been about, before Spock's voice caused him to flinch unpleasantly.

"I did not realize it was your custom to listen to other people's conversations, Captain." Spock's tone was laced with a hint of annoyance that had, as of late, become all too familiar.

Kirk immediately stepped forwards and came face-to-face with a Vulcan whose expression mirrored his tone. "I'm sorry, Spock," Kirk said immediately. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop. Your door was open, I heard that you were talking to someone, and I thought I should wait until you were finished."

Spock looked at him, his face seemingly relaxing a bit, though there was still an unfamiliar coldness in his eyes. However, Kirk's curiosity quickly gained control over his sense of shame, and he couldn't stop himself from asking,

"Who were you talking to?"

For a moment, Kirk thought Spock would refuse to reply, but then he said, rising from his seat, "Admiral Cohen."

Kirk frowned. He was not too familiar with Admiral Cohen. He knew the name, but couldn't connect a face to it.

"What did he want?" Kirk asked.

"It was I who contacted him," Spock replied.

When he didn't offer any more information, Kirk said, "Well, what did _you_ want, then?"

"I am not inclined to divulge that information at the present moment."

Kirk, feeling his well-worn temper flare up, breathed slowly and searched Spock's face for some sign of what the Vulcan wasn't saying. As usual, however, this exercise was completely pointless. Spock stared right back at him, his piercing gaze serving rather to relieve Kirk of his concentration than to strengthen it.

Torn between the desire to know more and a reluctance to get into a fight with Spock, Kirk simply stood there for a moment. But his fatigue won out in the end. He couldn't argue with Spock right now. Yes, it caused him pain that Spock apparently no longer trusted him. But Kirk knew it would make him even more unhappy if he managed to push Spock even further away. So he sighed, and said,

"Fine, Spock."

The Vulcan had apparently expected more of a battle, for he raised his eyebrows in a clearly surprised expression. Then he placed his hands behind his back.

"Thank you for respecting my privacy," he said quietly.

Kirk put his own hands behind his back. "I trust you to tell me anything that has to do with official Starfleet business," he said, putting a bit of a command behind the statement.

"Of course, Captain," Spock replied, not entirely successful at hiding the slight note of hesitation in his voice.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence while Kirk racked his brains in an attempt at remembering why he had come here in the first place. Spock looked at him with an expression that seemed to be asking the same thing.

"Oh," Kirk said finally, trying to keep his tone light and unconcerned. "I actually came to talk to you about Christopher."

Spock's face seemed to take on an added mask of neutrality which, instead of convincing Kirk of the Vulcan's indifference, rather confirmed his fears that Spock was all-too familiar with his and Christopher's relationship. Kirk knew this was awkward, but he needed Spock's support, so he hastened to explain.

"He's ready to take his qualification tests, and in order for him to do that, he needs to be approved by Starfleet."

Spock merely looked at him for a moment. His brows contracted minutely. "If he is to be approved, Starfleet must be made aware of his situation," Spock said evenly.

"Yes, exactly," Kirk conceded.

"This seems incompatible with your desire to keep him a secret," the Vulcan said, and Kirk was forced to swallow an increasing sense of panic.

"Yes," he said simply.

"How, then, do you propose to accomplish this?" Spock asked, making no further comment on the duality of his previous statement.

"I –" Kirk started, but Spock, somewhat uncharacteristically, cut him off.

"I should ask, how am I going to be of any assistance in this situation?"

Their eyes locked and the two men merely stared at each other for a moment.

"I was hoping for your support," Kirk said finally. "When we reach the Starbase, I'll have a word with the Admiral in charge and see if I can arrange something. Hopefully they'll understand my reasons for keeping Christopher here on the ship, but there might be some … issues."

"I think it is highly likely that there will be consequences, Captain," Spock said, with very little feeling.

Kirk frowned. "That's what I said."

Spock moved towards his desk and once more sat down. "Forgive me, Captain," he said slowly, "but I fail to see how I can improve these circumstances."

Kirk suddenly felt like he was in some kind of interview. With a certain incredulity, he noticed that he had never felt so uncomfortable in the company of his First Officer. Kirk took a steadying breath.

"A Captain's legitimacy is always strengthened by the support of his crew," he said softly. "And his friends," he added, but where such a remark might formerly have elicited a spark from the Vulcan's eye, Spock now seemed utterly unmoved.

"I understand," he said unconcernedly.

Kirk didn't really know what made him do it, he just knew that he had a sudden need for some kind of openness, and before he knew what he was getting himself into, he heard himself say,

"You know about me and Christopher."

It wasn't even a question. It was just a statement of what he already knew to be true. Spock's eyebrows twitched upwards in surprise, his neutral demeanor fading very abruptly. He surveyed Kirk with a strangely unreadable expression, and then, after a pause that seemed to last for half an eternity, he said,

"You are referring to your sexual relationship with the Cadet," he said quietly. His was also more of a statement than a question, and Kirk felt an inexplicable sense of shame, along with astonishment at Spock's direct reply.

"Yes," he confirmed.

Spock nodded slowly. "I have been aware of it for quite some time," he said.

Kirk could feel his heart beating irregularly and painfully in his chest. Something was tearing, snapping, and he couldn't put his finger on it, couldn't fix it. Pressure was building up in his throat, his legs felt like they had been filled with jelly, his stomach felt like it had been filled with lead. His next words caused him something of an effort to say.

"I'm – sorry I didn't tell you."

The apology seemed ridiculous, and Kirk might as well have turned a somersault for all the effect it had on Spock, who simply raised his eyebrows in a condescending expression and said,

"Your personal affairs are not my concern, Captain."

Kirk let out a short stunted breath, as if he had been punched in the abdomen. He was forced to turn his eyes down for a moment, reeling himself in as best he could, and, by some miracle, he managed to look back up and hitch a small smile onto his face. The expression caused Spock to frown.

"You're right, Mr. Spock," Kirk said, in a tone that was way too cheery and sounded nothing like him. "You're right. I was being inappropriate. I apologize. I just thought – you know – full disclosure and all that."

He was rambling, so he quickly shut his mouth. There was a moment of silence, then Spock spoke.

"If we return to our previous discussion," he said evenly, changing the subject, "I will offer you any support you need when we reach Starbase 16."

The ridiculous little grin Kirk had been attempting to pull off, was wiped thoroughly off his face. He looked at Spock and felt for a moment so utterly empty that it was all he could do not to scream. Instead, he breathed, slowly.

"Thank you," he said softly, and Spock inclined his head politely. Kirk shifted his eyes from the Vulcan to the door. "I'd better get back to the Bridge."

"That seems wise," Spock agreed. "I will join you there shortly."

Kirk spared the Vulcan one last look – their eyes met. Then Kirk turned around and left the room.

* * *

><p>They arrived at Starbase 16 very early the next morning, and it was a nervous and exhausted Captain that stepped out of his ship accompanied by his Bridge crew and Cadet Christopher. The latter had just barely managed a release from Sickbay under the express demand that he shouldn't "overexert himself".<p>

The Admiral on duty at this Starbase, supposedly one Jane Hill, was, they had been told, not well, and had been confined to her bed. They would instead be met by another Starfleet official, though they had not been told by whom, something Kirk found very strange.

Captain Jordan was also in place, and he took care to put a significant amount of steady disapproval into his tone as he hastily said "good morning", before walking briskly away to deal with his own affairs. Kirk, in an effort to keep his mood relatively light, turned to Christopher and shrugged, with a shake of his head. Christopher responded with a glance at the other Captain's retreating back and a whispered,

"He's just a barrel of laughs, that one."

Kirk turned to make some reply, but his eyes were immediately caught by an impressive red-clad personage with short-cropped black hair and arms spread wide in greeting.

"Kirk!" he said jovially, and Kirk soon found his shoulders grasped by a set of strong, broad hands. He had to smile.

"Admiral Bryant," he said, surprised. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

Bryant let go of Kirk's arms and stepped back, surveying him closely. "Ah, but Kirk," he said, waving an admonitory finger in Kirk's direction. "You must always expect the unexpected."

Then his face broke into a wide grin and he let out a bark of laughter that seemed to ricochet off the walls. Kirk smiled, a little wanly, and let out a small chuckle, a slightly more timid sound than the one that had just escaped the Admiral. The surrounding Bridge crew, particularly those that had never met the Admiral, looked at each other with questioning expressions, some plainly wondering if they were also required to laugh. Spock merely regarded Bryant with a small frown. Chekov, on the other hand, wearing a wide grin, instantly stepped forwards and greeted the Admiral with a jaunty "Hello!". They two men grasped hands.

"Chekov!" Admiral Bryant said cheerfully. "How's Russia?"

Chekov flashed him a crooked smile. "Still superior in all ways, Admiral," he answered.

Once more, the Admiral roared with laughter, and he slapped Chekov's shoulder good-naturedly before shaking his head and turning to Kirk.

"You've got yourself a fine one here!" he said.

Kirk smiled and nodded. "Mr. Chekov is a very capable crewman," he confirmed.

"Ah, I don't doubt it," Bryant said. "It was, after all, I who assigned him to you."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

"Yes, yes," Bryant replied. "I got to know Chekov while he was at the Academy, a few years back. Great student, good cadet. Excellent stories." He looked fondly at the Ensign. "You must retell that one about the true origins of karate while you're here. Exquisitely entertaining!"

Chekov nodded, looking very pleased with himself. Kirk kept from rolling his eyes with some difficulty. Admiral Bryant's eyes now moved to the rest of the assembled crew, and they soon found Spock, to whom he nodded amicably.

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Spock," he said cordially. "Still keeping this one" – he jerked his head in the direction of Kirk – "in line I trust?"

Spock's eyebrows twitched down in a barely perceptible frown, and he put his hands behind his back. "I believe the Captain is highly capable of keeping himself in line," he said seriously.

Once more, Admiral Bryant laughed. Spock raised his eyebrows quietly.

"Ah, you'll have to pardon me, Mr. Spock," he said, still chortling. Spock looked confused, but Bryant merely turned to the rest of the crew. His eyes fell on Uhura.

"And who is this?" he said, moving forwards with an outstretched hand, which Uhura took politely.

"This is my Communications Officer, Lieutenant Uhura," Kirk said.

"Lovely," Bryant said, with a big smile. Uhura smiled back, a little shyly.

After this, Admiral Bryant extended his hand to Sulu, who immediately stepped forwards and introduced himself.

"Lieutenant Sulu, Sir," he said officially. "Helm."

"Very pleased to meet you," Bryant said warmly, and, turning to Bones, "and you must be the CMO – Doctor McCoy, is it not?"

McCoy nodded. "Yes, Sir."

Finally, the Admiral's eyes fell on Christopher, who had been watching the man with curious interest, as if he had never seen such an official before. As with the others, Bryant extended his hand towards the Cadet, and Christopher took it with some measure of hesitation, although he straightened his back and shook the hand with his usual military precision.

"And who are you?" the Admiral asked kindly.

"Christopher," the Cadet said. "Cadet John Christopher."

Bryant raised his eyebrows. "I wasn't aware that any cadets were assigned to your ship?" he said, turning towards Kirk.

A couple crew members exchanged slightly worried glances. Kirk looked from Christopher to Bryant.

"It's a slightly special situation," he said quietly, "that I'd like to talk to you about later, if you have the time."

Bryant surveyed him with a curious expression, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Special situation, hm?" he said. "Well, of course I have time. In fact, I have plenty of time." The grin found its way back to his face. "I was actually hoping that you and your talented Bridge crew would consent to having dinner with me this evening. I was also hoping to meet your Chief Engineer – where have you hidden him?" Admiral Bryant took a look around him, as if half expecting to find Scotty hiding behind one of the other crew members.

Kirk motioned back towards the Enterprise. "He's probably lodged himself in an engine somewhere," he said.

"Ah," Bryant said, with an understanding wink. "Well, the invitation naturally includes him as well. And I would be happy to hear of your special situation after the meal. Would this be acceptable?"

Kirk looked around at his crew, who all nodded. "We are happy to accept your invitation," he answered then.

"Excellent!" Bryant said his large form seeming to expand with his satisfaction. "Then I will see you all in the Admiral's dining hall at seven o'clock. And make sure to let the Starbase crew know if you need any particular assistance with your repairs. We are fully stocked on equipment at the moment, so I trust we will have everything you need. I also trust that Chief Engineer of yours would like to personally oversee the process?"

"I highly doubt Scotty will want to leave the ship until it is in full working order," Kirk agreed, with a small smile.

"Sounds like the dedicated crew you have described," Bryant said fondly. "I will be looking forward to dinner. Now, I must be on my way. Papers to sign, diplomatic crises to avert, you know the drill, hm?"

He slapped Kirk's shoulder amicably and then turned and walked impressively down the hall. The assembled crew just stared at his retreating back for a moment, then they all turned to their respective assignments, disappearing in different directions along the hall. Kirk remained standing with Christopher, who still appeared slightly transfixed by the interesting personage he had just met.

"So that was Admiral Bryant," Kirk said, by way of an explanation.

Christopher kept his eyes on the hallway where the Admiral had just disappeared. "He's … kind of strange, isn't he?"

Kirk let out a short laugh. "I think eccentric is a better word for him," he said.

The truth was, Kirk was greatly relieved. He knew that, no matter how he explained himself, there would be consequences for how he had chosen to handle the situation with Christopher. He had resigned himself to that. But he knew there were few Admirals in Starfleet more liberal or understanding than Bryant. His character was a unique blend of joviality and decorum. He was one of the few people Kirk knew who managed to have honest opinions on just about everything, and yet felt very strongly about nothing. The Admiral was a very open person, and though he could come across as slightly bombastic, he never, Kirk believed, gave voice to anything without complete earnestness.

The rest of the day went by in various meetings and the commencement of repairs to the Enterprise. Kirk also spent some time updating his Captain's Log and filling out some paperwork, tedious but necessary work. Christopher, he knew, was studying. Every once in a while, he would pop into Kirk's quarters to ask him some question or other, before hurrying out again either to recheck some detail or assist with repairs. For the Cadet was, as Scotty had intimated earlier, quite handy down in Engineering, and he spent a lot of time there, helping in any way he could. He seemed to have an affinity for mechanics, and Kirk thought that might become his specialty once he moved up in rank. _If you succeed in convincing Starfleet to _let_ him move up in rank_, a tiresome little voice whispered in his head.

The hour for dinner arrived quickly, and Kirk and McCoy went down together, arriving first. Admiral Bryant greeted them both with his usual enthusiasm, and they were soon joined by the rest of the Bridge crew. Spock, uncharacteristically, arrived last. He made a brief apology to the effect that he had been occupied with his duties, but Kirk got the distinct feeling that "duties" did not quite cover the whole truth. When Spock, for the remainder of the evening, refused to meet Kirk's gaze, this seemed to confirm his suspicions. He didn't make any attempt at finding out what Spock was up to, but he had a nagging feeling it must have something to do with the Vulcan's earlier conversation with Admiral Cohen, the contents of which Spock had been a little too reluctant to share.

But Kirk put this out of his mind. He had other things to do tonight, and he needed to focus. He would deal with Spock's secrets later.

Dinner passed enjoyably enough. Bryant was fond of talking, and did so loudly and freely, but he also clearly enjoyed listening to their tales. They spent some time talking about the unknown alien race they had been chasing, and the Admiral was extremely frustrated on their behalf, slamming his large hand down on the table and nearly upsetting his glass of wine when they told him about how the two vessels had crashed.

"You have my word that Starfleet will keep all its feelers out on this one," he said heatedly. "That was some quick thinking on your part, though, Kirk. Not to mention some seriously impressive maneuvering." He inclined his head deferentially in Sulu's direction. The Helmsman shook his head as if to ward off the compliment, but could not suppress a small, satisfied smile.

Captain Jordan, who had also joined them for the meal, didn't look quite so pleased, but, for once, he kept his comments to himself.

Time often moves very quickly when you're dreading something ahead, and before Kirk knew it, they were rising and saying their goodnights. The rest of the crew gone, Kirk turned to the Admiral, who was watching him with a scrutinizing expression. The room was oddly still now that everyone had left. The lack of sound gave the space an uncomfortably oppressive quality.

For a long moment, the two men regarded each other silently. Then Admiral Bryant spoke, and it was in a slightly more subdued tone than usual.

"So you needed to speak with me."

Kirk took a breath. "Yes," he said, a sinking, nervous feeling in his stomach.

"I'm going to venture a guess," Bryant said calculatingly, "that this special situation with Cadet Christopher has something to do with your sojourn in the past. Am I right?"

Kirk nodded. "Yes."

"Is there any chance that he is the very pilot who caught a live glimpse of the Enterprise, and whose own vessel, as you put it, _had to resort to a somewhat violent emergency landing_?"

Kirk was rather impressed with the Admiral's memory, and, a little reluctantly, he nodded. "Yes, Admiral," he said quietly. "Cadet Christopher was _Captain_ Christopher, a US Air Force pilot from the 1960's." Feeling that he should just explain everything at once rather than to wait for an interruption, Kirk continued. "We had to bring him along. He had been aboard our ship, he had seen too much. We couldn't take the risk of the future being altered because of him." He took another breath, and then said the thing he had been dreading the most. "It was my fault, and I assume full responsibility. I showed him the ship. I shouldn't have. I wasn't thinking, and …"

He trailed off. Bryant was wearing an unusually serious expression, but he did not look angry. A moment passed in uncomfortable silence. Then, finally, the Admiral spoke.

"I wish you had told me this when you made your initial report," he said, with a small sigh. "Why didn't you?"

Kirk, feeling suddenly restless, got up and started pacing back and forth. Bryant regarded him patiently.

"I felt like he was my responsibility," Kirk explained. "I was afraid that Starfleet would want to … to test him or examine him or … that he wouldn't be … happy there. I figured that he might be better off in the one place he already knew. We have so many capable officers on board, and we have been training him, so that, if Starfleet permits it, he is ready to qualify for the rank of Ensign."

Admiral Bryant got up, too. "That is why you're telling me this now," he said plainly.

"Yes," Kirk admitted, facing the Admiral with a determined expression. "I realize there will be consequences for my actions. I am willing to accept them. But Christopher is extremely capable – he learns quickly, and has years' worth of military training from his own time. He should be given a chance to make it in this world … despite my mistakes."

He regarded Bryant searchingly. The Admiral was frowning.

"You know that this is not just up to me," he said, after a short silence.

Kirk nodded. "I know."

"I understand your motives, I really do," Bryant continued. "And I will try to help you." Kirk felt his insides light up. "However," Bryant said, with a stern expression, "there will, as you yourself surmised, be consequences." He looked at Kirk with an expression that seemed to say that he would have liked to avoid this side effect if he could. "You made two very rash judgment calls, both in allowing this Christopher to see your ship in the first place, and in deciding not to disclose all information to Starfleet immediately. If I am to secure some future for Christopher, I will need to relate all of this in full."

"I know," Kirk said again.

Admiral Bryant continued. "I cannot say what the punishment will be. You are a good Captain, and Starfleet knows this. And I will try to speak for you as well as I can."

Kirk gave him a tired smile. "Thank you, Admiral," he said. "You are being very understanding."

At this, Bryant got up as well. "Well, you know," he said airily, a crooked smile finding its way to his face, "I do pride myself on my friendly and accessible nature. I would hate to let that image go." He gave Kirk a small wink.

Kirk laughed, in spite of himself, shaking his head. Bryant came up to him, and his face sobering, he put a large, sturdy hand on Kirk's shoulder.

"We'll find a way to make this work," he said comfortingly. "Your trip to the past was an unforeseeable event. Given the fact that you and your crew were completely unprepared for such an occurrence, it's actually something of a miracle that the consequences were not substantially larger. I will not leave out the expertise and professionalism of you and your crew when I make this report."

Kirk looked at the Admiral, feeling intensely grateful. "Thank you," he said. "I hate to ask more of you, but if you could make sure to let Starfleet know that this was my decision, and mine alone, that would be … very helpful."

"You do not wish do get your crew involved," Bryant said.

"No," Kirk confirmed. "This was not their doing, and they deserve no blame."

Admiral Bryant nodded. "I have a lot of respect for you, Captain Kirk," he said warmly, then, "I will contact Starfleet first thing in the morning, and let you know as soon as we reach a decision."

Grateful, Kirk clasped the Admiral's hand and shook it amicably. "Thank you," he said, for the third time.

"Well," Bryant said, as they moved towards the door. "I believe it is time for bed, wouldn't you say?"

Kirk nodded. "I have to admit, I'm really tired," he admitted.

Bryant looked at him calculatingly as they walked down the deserted hall. "I'm going to venture a guess that you haven't slept since the alien encounter, am I right?"

Kirk shrugged. "There really wasn't time."

Bryant shook his head. "I think you work too hard," he said, with an indulging smile. "I don't suppose you would accept my offer of one of the finer guest rooms for the night? Get some proper rest?"

Kirk smiled and shook his head. "I think I'd like to stay with my ship," he said. They had reached a junction, and the Enterprise lay in the docking area off to the right.

"Well, then, good night," Admiral Bryant said kindly. He started moving down the left corridor, but then he stopped and turned. "I expect you to rest yourself now," he said commandingly.

Kirk chuckled appreciatively. "Don't worry," he said. "My only plan at the moment is to sleep."

"Good, good," Bryant said, with a smile. "Then I will speak with you tomorrow."

He moved off, and Kirk headed in the direction of the Enterprise. He walked briskly and reached the docking area quickly, taking a small shuttle over to his ship. It was late, and most of his crew would be in their beds by now, so he wasn't expecting to meet anyone as he walked down the halls. However, as he rounded one of the corners, he almost walked headlong into a long, lean someone.

"Spock!" he said, surprised. "You're not in bed."

Spock raised his eyebrows. "It would, indeed, be very difficult for me to be in my chambers and here simultaneously," he replied. "I was looking for you," he added, and Kirk frowned.

"At this hour?"

"Yes," Spock answered. "You said, earlier, that you required my assistance, and it was my intention to find you so that I could inquire whether there is any particular duty I could perform."

"At this hour?" Kirk repeated.

Spock looked suddenly a little hesitant. "My previous reception of your request was not … entirely amicable," he said. "I apologize. I was preoccupied. However, I wish to be of assistance."

Kirk sighed and gave the Vulcan a small smile. "Thank you, Spock," he said warmly. "But it's ok. It was unprofessional of me to ask that of you. I have already spoken with Admiral Bryant, and he's going to talk to Starfleet in the morning. Hopefully, we can all come to some sort of understanding. But I don't want to get my crew involved. None of you should have to pay the price for my mistakes."

Spock frowned, but said nothing. It was only when Kirk made to move past him that he spoke again.

"Captain," he said, his tone even more reluctant now.

Kirk stopped. "Yes, Spock," he said, turning once more towards the Vulcan.

"There is … something of which I need to speak with you," he said quietly.

Kirk frowned, and felt an inexplicable dread flow through his veins. Spock opened his mouth to continue, but Kirk held up a hand to stop him.

"Does this have something to do with that conversation I walked in on yesterday?" he said, trying to keep his voice as level as possible, though his heart was now hammering painfully in his throat.

Spock took a moment, and then inclined his head. "Yes."

Kirk shook his head quickly. "I'm sure it's important, Spock," he said. "And I appreciate your telling me about it, but … I'm exhausted." Spock looked at him with raised eyebrows. "I really need to sleep," Kirk continued. "I'm not Vulcan, and I can't be up for two days straight without needing a little rest, so if we could talk about this in the morning, I would be … that would be better."

Spock looked at him, and Kirk was afraid he had made the Vulcan angry, but then Spock once more inclined his head, and his face seemed to relax a little.

"Of course, Captain," he said. "We will speak when you are better rested."

Kirk breathed a small sigh of relief. Spock looked at him with a quizzical expression. Kirk waved a hand dismissively in his direction.

"Sorry, Spock," he said, "I'm just … really tired. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

With that, he turned and headed towards his quarters with the illogical feeling that he had temporarily averted a catastrophe.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Kirk awoke later than usual, but was grateful for the extra hours of sleep; he felt like he was going to need them. He didn't have to wait long for Admiral Bryant to call. Kirk had just managed to take three bites of his breakfast, which he was eating in the privacy of his quarters, when the door slid open and Bryant strode in.<p>

Kirk instantly rose, pushing his breakfast unceremoniously aside.

"Admiral," he greeted.

"Good morning, Kirk," Bryant replied.

It was difficult to tell from his tone or expression whether he came bearing bad news or _really_ bad news. Kirk felt that to say _So?_ might seem a little impatient, so he kept his mouth shut and settled for looking at Bryant with a quietly curious expression. Hopefully, his face didn't betray too much of his mounting anxiety.

"Well, Kirk," Bryant said after a pause that seemed, to Kirk's frayed nerves, ridiculously drawn out, "I have spoken with Starfleet."

Again, he paused, and Kirk found himself wondering what use there could possibly be in drawing this out. He continued to regard the Admiral with what he hoped was a relatively calm demeanor.

"I have to say," Bryant said finally, "that they weren't all too happy with this."

Kirk resisted the urge to laugh. "I assumed as much," he said.

"But," the Admiral continued, "they do agree with you on one thing, and that is that Christopher should not be punished for this incident." Kirk's spirits rose. "They have decided to let him take the necessary tests so that he can rise in rank. If he passes them, he will be granted the title of Ensign, and will continue in service aboard the Enterprise."

This was a lot more than Kirk had hoped for, and he felt his insides glow with joy.

"That's … that's wonderful," he said breathlessly.

"As for you," Bryant continued, and Kirk's stomach squirmed unpleasantly. "Starfleet has decided that the case does necessitate some sort of disciplinary action, but they were very reluctant to take any drastic measures." At this, Bryant winked, and Kirk felt his stomach settle down a little. At least he wouldn't be removed from command. "You're quite useful, as you know," Bryant explained. "So they've decided to let you continue as usual with the express warning that if you should ever choose to go behind our backs again, you risk being demoted, and removed from your position."

Kirk hardly dared believe it. But Bryant wasn't quite finished.

"There are a couple of things, however," he said. "You are, for one thing, requested to submit a formal report detailing all the circumstances surrounding Christopher, and his training. Secondly Starfleet has decided that you should be more closely monitored, until we are certain that this is not something that occurs on a regular basis."

Kirk frowned. He really didn't like the sound of being _monitored_. But he had to admit, if that was to be his only punishment, he was getting off really easy.

"So," Kirk said, a little hesitatingly. "How will this – _monitoring_ – work?"

"Well," Bryant replied. "You will, during the next couple of months, have a ranking officer aboard your ship, to whom you will have to answer. His job will be to make sure that you follow all of Starfleet's rules and regulations."

Kirk's spirits sank like a stone. So he _was_, for all intents and purposes, to be relieved of command. It was only temporary, sure, but, being pretty familiar with himself by now, he knew he was _not_ going to like having to answer to someone else.

Mustering up his courage, he asked, "This ranking officer … has he already been assigned, or will Starfleet wait until the Enterprise is ready to head off?"

Admiral Bryant looked at him closely. "As a matter of fact, there was a volunteer," he said.

Kirk tried his best not to grimace. He knew there was more than one Admiral in Starfleet who would simply _love_ to keep a closer eye on him, and he knew he would have precious little patience with any of them. He dreaded the response, but had to ask,

"Who?"

Then Bryant grinned. "Me," he said cheerfully.

Kirk's eyebrows flew up to his hairline. "You?" he said disbelievingly.

"Me," Bryant repeated, with a small chuckle.

Kirk had to try very hard not to laugh in his relief. He didn't really trust himself to say anything, so he smiled widely, and clasped the Admiral's hand firmly.

"I'm glad you approve," Bryant said, with another wink.

They headed out together, Kirk forgetting all about his would-be breakfast, and, after the Admiral left to resume his duties on the Starbase, Kirk all but ran down to Christopher's quarters, where the good news was received with no small amount of satisfaction.

* * *

><p>A week passed by with relative ease. Repairs to the Enterprise were moving along with only minor delays; Scotty had discovered that one of the engine parts didn't quite meet with his approval, and had consequently had to order one from Starbase 18. However, Kirk was cheerful, and even Spock seemed to be in a better mood lately. He had never found out what the Vulcan had wanted to speak to him about, and though Kirk had tried to breach the topic a few times, the timing had never seemed to be right. In fact, Spock had seemed almost as reluctant to talk about it as Kirk was.<p>

Christopher, for his part, had spent the last ten days at the Starbase testing center, and so far he had passed with flying colors. He only had one examination left, and by the end of the day he would, hopefully, be ready to receive his red shirt. Kirk seemed, on the whole, more nervous about the process than Christopher himself, who was oddly calm. So, at five o'clock that day, Kirk could be found in one of the conference rooms of the Enterprise, sitting on the edge of his chair and tapping his fingers impatiently on the smooth surface of the table. He jumped up as soon as he heard the door slide open, but it was Spock, and not Christopher, who entered.

"Oh," Kirk said. "Hi, Spock."

Spock frowned. "I have been looking for you," he said. "Doctor McCoy informed me that you were here." He looked around the room, as if expecting to see someone else there, then he looked back at Kirk. "Might I inquire –" he started, but Kirk, anticipating his question, cut him off.

"I'm waiting for Christopher," he said.

Spock's eyebrows flicked upwards for just a moment, and then he put his hands behind his back. "Oh," he said, echoing Kirk.

"He's supposed to be finished with his examinations soon," Kirk explained. "We agreed to meet here."

Spock said nothing, but at that moment, the aforementioned Cadet came storming into the room, his face alight with triumph. Kirk felt his heart swell at the sight, and he didn't have time to ask the question before Christopher blurted out,

"I did it! You're looking at a fully certified Ensign!"

Kirk instantly moved forwards and wrapped Christopher in a warm hug. "Congratulations," he said heartily, then, as he pulled back, "I knew you would, you know."

Christopher let out a small laugh. "Yeah," he scoffed. "You weren't anxious at all."

"I was … merely …" – Kirk considered for a moment –

"A nervous wreck?" Christopher finished, a playful glint in his eye.

Kirk frowned, and Christopher, turning, seemed to notice Spock for the first time since entering the room.

"Congratulations … Ensign," Spock said, a little stiffly.

Christopher grinned. "Thank you!" he said cheerfully. "And you have the honor of being the first person to call me that!"

Spock raised his eyebrows. "I feel very fortunate," he said, and, despite the fact that Spock very rarely made jokes, Kirk could swear he had heard a trace of sarcasm in the Vulcan's tone.

Christopher either missed the irony or decided to ignore it. Kirk turned to one of the chairs, and lifted up a bunch of red material which he promptly handed to Christopher.

"It is my honor to present you with this shirt," he said, smiling.

Christopher hesitated for a moment, then he took the garment, his face suddenly expressing a little less enthusiasm than it had a second ago. His smile had become just a little stiff.

"It's … red," he said slowly.

Kirk nodded. "Yes," he replied. Spock looked at them both with his eyebrows raised.

"Does it … does it have to be red?" Christopher said, with a slight grimace.

Now it was Kirk's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Yes," he said.

Christopher held the shirt at arm's length and stared at it for a moment. "It just seems very, very _red_," he said, as if this point had not already been made.

"I believe that is due to the fact that that is its color," Spock offered, with what Kirk interpreted as a slightly condescending tone.

Christopher spared the Vulcan a quick glance before turning back to Kirk. "It's kind of like a big, whopping target, know what I mean?"

Kirk crossed his arms over his chest. "No," he said airily. "I don't believe I do."

"Well," Christopher said, curling the shirt up and tucking it under his arm, "let's just say that I hope we beam down to a lot of violently red planets, otherwise this thing's going to stick out like a sore thumb."

Kirk had to laugh, in spite of himself, and he did see Christopher's point. But then none of their uniforms had particularly discreet coloring. Spock, on the other hand, was looking at the now Ensign with a confused expression.

"_Stick out like a sore thumb_?" he echoed with a questioning air. "I do not understand the workings of this expression."

Christopher turned to Spock with a mildly exasperated expression. "I didn't make it up," he said, shrugging. "But I guess sore thumbs, as a group, tend to stick out more than thumbs that … aren't sore."

Spock raised his eyebrows and turned to Kirk, perhaps hoping that he had a better explanation, but Kirk just shook his head. "Sorry," he said. "Can't help you with this one. It's just a saying."

Spock looked at the two of them and then shook his head. "Illogical," he said. He made as if to leave, but then seemed to remember something, and turned back. "Captain," he said. "I need to speak with you on official matters."

"Now?" Kirk asked quietly.

"No, Captain," Spock replied evenly. "You are … otherwise engaged. I would, however, be grateful if you could stop by my quarters when you have the opportunity."

Kirk nodded, his stomach doing a strange little back-flip. "Yes, Spock, I'll be by later."

The door slid shut behind Spock and Kirk remained staring at it for a full minute before Christopher came up behind him and snaked a strong hand around his waist.

"You know," he said into Kirk's ear, "this shirt – it really seems to scream _kill me now_."

Kirk turned around with a frustrated sigh. "You need to get off that topic," he said, placing a firm hand on Christopher's neck. Christopher leaned in slowly.

"If I didn't know any better," he whispered, "I'd think you were trying to get rid of me."

Once more, Kirk could not suppress a laugh. He shook his head. "That would eliminate all the extra-curricular activities you provide," he said, with a seductive smile, "which would just be a waste of resources."

And he moved in and placed a hard, open-mouthed kiss on Christopher's lips. Christopher responded by moving his hands down to grasp Kirk's waist. The intense grip of his fingers sent jolts of electricity coursing up Kirk's sides; his hold on Christopher's neck tightened, and he aligned himself against the Ensign's chest.

It bothered him very little just then that the door to the conference room was unlocked and could open at any moment. It didn't, but Kirk's carelessness in the matter caused him a little unease as he lay in bed some hours later, mulling over the events of the day. He strongly suspected his lack of caution had something to do with the fact that the one person whose reaction to his and Christopher's relationship he had dreaded the most, already knew, and obviously didn't care much one way or the other. Secrecy didn't really seem to matter anymore, now that Spock knew. Not that it was altogether a good idea to let everyone know about it – truthfully, Kirk didn't even know exactly_ what_ there was to know about. What, after all, was the nature of his and Christopher's … could one call it a relationship? Kirk hardly knew. He didn't have a lot of experience in the matter. He had had a few semi-long-lasting relationships in his life, but for some reason, they had never seemed to work out. He had never gone the distance. He didn't know that he ever would.

He tried not to think about how utterly pathetic that was.

He failed.

At seven o'clock, he rose, straightened his uniform, and stepped over to the comm. unit on his wall. He hailed Spock's quarters.

"Spock here," came the customary, even reply.

"You needed to speak with me," Kirk said. "Is now a good time?"

"Yes, Captain," Spock responded, and Kirk wondered whether he imagined the slight note of trepidation in Spock's tone.

"Then I'll be right over," Kirk said, and ended the transmission.

He walked out of his quarters with a steady gait, but an unsteady heart. Somehow, he knew this conversation was not going to be pleasant. He had no idea what it would entail, but he knew Spock had not been quite himself for a while, and he also knew that the former bond of friendship between them had been stretched so thin that the merest gust of wind could easily tear it apart. Kirk dreaded this more than anything else, as if some physical part of him were in danger of being torn out of his body.

Kirk halted before Spock's door, which suddenly became so foreboding that it was all Kirk could do not to turn around and start walking back the way he came. But he mastered himself, telling himself that he was being ridiculous, and, without further hesitation, he walked forwards and into the dimly lit quarters, where Spock was standing before his desk with an expression of obviously forced neutrality on his face.

There was a tense moment in which neither of them spoke. Then Kirk motioned towards two chairs which stood before Spock's desk, as if they were just waiting for something to happen.

"Should we … sit down?" Kirk asked, a little awkwardly.

"Yes," Spock responded simply, and they both sat.

It didn't help. The only thing different was that now Kirk didn't have anything to do with his legs, which suddenly seemed very large and ridiculous where they hung off the edge of his chair. He resisted the urge to stand up again, and fixed his eyes on Spock, who also looked uncomfortable, though less obviously so. When Spock's eyes met Kirk's, his right hand twitched, as if it had had an unpleasant thought. Kirk pretended not to have noticed.

"Captain," Spock began somberly, "I have been in the service of Starfleet for quite some time. My time here has been very educational, and I have endeavored to perform my duties in such a way as to be always useful."

"You are, Spock," Kirk said instantly, not at all liking the way the Vulcan was speaking. "You're the best Science Officer I've ever had the good fortune to meet."

Again, Spock's right hand made the slightest twitch, but on his face, there was no sign that he had either liked or disliked the compliment.

"Your praise is very generous," he said after a short moment. "However, Starfleet has many other equally qualified Science Officers, so I must assume that you have not met them, or, otherwise, that you have not had the chance to make note of their abilities."

Kirk looked at Spock, an increasing sense of panic bubbling up into his throat and making it difficult to form the right words.

"What are you saying, Spock?"

The Vulcan regarded him passively. "I have decided that it is time for me to offer my services elsewhere," he said, his calm tone cutting Kirk to the very core of his being.

Kirk felt as if the room were tilting before his eyes. Suddenly he was very glad to be sitting, for he felt he might otherwise have lost his balance. He meant to make some coherent reply, ask a fully formed question the answer to which might explain this sudden shock, but all that came out of his mouth was,

"What?"

For the first time, Spock's eyes softened, and his eyebrows contracted as if, for a moment, he felt this every bit as much as Kirk did. But he didn't offer any words of comfort or explanation, he just carried on, relentlessly.

"I have, as you know, been in contact with Admiral Cohen. He has reviewed my case, and it has been decided, by mutual understanding, that I am to remain in my capacity as First Officer, as well as Science Officer, for the duration of one month, or, alternatively, until Starfleet can find someone to take my place."

_No one can take your place_, Kirk thought desperately, as his brain struggled fruitlessly to grasp the horrible truth Spock was telling him. He didn't even try to hide his feelings as, with a broken voice, he said,

"Why?"

Spock frowned. "These past couple of months, I have not felt that I have been performing to my usual standards," he said quietly. "I struggled to divine some explanation for this aberration, and I have decided that my personal situation is such that it is not currently wise for me to continue in service aboard this vessel."

Kirk felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. "What _personal situation_?" he said, a little more loudly than he had intended.

Spock's eyes once more closed off, and were instantly cold and unfeeling. "That is my affair," he said curtly.

Kirk rose abruptly from his chair, his body apparently having taken on a life of its own. "Your affair?" he cried. "_Your_ affair? How can you say that? You're leaving my ship, and all you can tell me is that it's _your affair_?" Kirk strode the length of the room, and then strode back. "No, Spock, I demand an explanation for this."

At this, the Vulcan rose as well. His face was hard and stern.

"I have fulfilled my terms according to Starfleet regulations, and these do not require a personal explanation to you or any other officer not directly related to my transfer."

Kirk felt his resolve harden as anger set in. "Not related to your transfer?" he repeated forcefully. "I'm your Captain! How is that not related?"

"My personal matters are not relevant," was all Spock offered by way of a reply.

Kirk let out a frustrated noise. "If they're causing you to leave my service, then I think they qualify as relevant!" he exclaimed. His temper was mounting to boiling point and he walked right up to Spock so that they were a mere foot apart. He took a deep breath, and lowered his voice."Don't you dare tell me you're leaving me, and then refuse to tell me why."

They were so close that Kirk could feel Spock's slightly erratic breath on his face. The desire to reach out, grab Spock's face and force their lips together was, for a moment, so overpowering that Kirk was frankly astounded that he managed to control himself. But the sight of Spock's discomfort at their closeness, the thought of the Vulcan's inevitably disgusted reaction, quickly put Kirk's brain back on track, and he took a step back, putting some space between them. His anger also seemed to be abating somewhat, only to be replaced by a numb sense of chilly disbelief.

Spock was wearing one of his trademark unreadable expressions, and Kirk suddenly found it difficult to even look at him. He felt … betrayed. As if Spock had made him some promise that he had broken, only that wasn't the case at all. There had never been any agreement between them that could prevent this, Kirk knew that. Spock was perfectly within his rights to do what he wanted with his life. He had already served aboard Starfleet ships for many years, and perhaps it was silly of Kirk to think that Spock would be there forever, that they would always work together.

Finally, feeling defeated, Kirk sighed. "I'm sorry, Spock," he said, moving his eyes back to the Vulcan's, and trying to put some earnestness into his apology. "I've … come to rely on you, and … it's very strange to me to think that I might have to make do without your help. Are you … absolutely certain that this is what you want?"

Spock was still for a moment, and for three glorious seconds, Kirk thought he might say no, hoped that Spock might change his mind. But Spock didn't do any of those things. Instead, he said,

"Yes, Captain."

Kirk, feeling utterly hollow, nodded. "Very well," he said, and, finding it impossible to stay there any longer, he hurriedly left Spock's quarters.

There was nothing more to say.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So you have no idea how happy it made me to be able to bring back Admiral Bryant. Throwing all humility aside, I love him. Seriously. His character has such potential for awesomeness. I hope none of you really dislike him, because that would make me sad.

As for cliffhangers, you know ... they still exist. And I employ them. On a daily basis.

Last, but not least, leaving a review makes you cool.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Long time no see ... I'm so sorry. I have no excuse more brilliant than that I've been extremely busy, first with school, then with work, then with holidays (believe it or not, it's possible to be insanely busy even when you're supposed to be on break), then I've had several weeks of something like the flu, and then I had to move into a new apartment. And I'm still sick. So yay!

Also, my muse has taken a vacation. She seems to be coming back now though, so that's good news.

Anyway, without any further ado, here it is: Chapter 12. Enjoy.

* * *

><p>Everything was becoming disconnected.<p>

Previously reconciled modes of feeling were suddenly irreconcilable. Preconceived notions no longer bore any significance on matters at hand.

Spock was laboring under a rather intense case of confusion.

His conversation with Jim had not done what it was supposed to do. Telling Jim about his intentions to transfer was meant to give him a sense of ... _closure_ was a fitting word. Spock had hoped it would strengthen his resolve.

All it had strengthened was his desire to stay, to wrap Jim securely in his arms and force him to stay there until he felt what Spock felt.

He knew, of course, that this thought was entirely illogical.

This knowledge had not stopped that selfsame thought from creeping into every corner of his mind and refusing to yield even during the most intense meditation sessions. Needless to say, the last nine days had been exceedingly tiring.

The Enterprise, fully functional once more, was on its way to investigate a Quasar-like phenomenon on the outskirts of the Alpha quadrant, and this was to be Spock's final mission as the ship's Science Officer. A replacement had been found, and said replacement would take over the post in approximately one week, when the Enterprise was scheduled to be in the vicinity of Earth. Uncharacteristically, Spock could not even recall this officer's name. He knew the man was skilled. He also knew that he felt an illogical twinge of resentment every time he envisioned the man at his post. Spock had quitted said post; it followed naturally that someone must replace him. This undeniable truth did not make the process any more satisfying.

The rest of the crew, Doctor McCoy excluded, had not yet been informed of Spock's upcoming departure. The Captain had asked that they refrain from divulging this information until the present mission had been completed, and Spock, in an effort at amicability, had acquiesced to his request, despite the fact that he found said request slightly curious.

Apart from the necessary interaction which concerned official business, the Captain did not speak to him, and Spock did not attempt to force any conversation between them. It would be entirely fruitless now that he was leaving. However, Spock did not venture to convince himself that he was indifferent to the matter. Quite the contrary: for the first time, he was allowing his feelings towards Jim full range, allowing himself to _feel_ properly. This little indulgence was, at times, the only twinkle of light in a long, dreary corridor of necessity and obligation.

This morning found Spock lying on his bed, staring up at the blank ceiling of his quarters. It had become a repetitive pose, lately. His shift started in ten minutes, and he was trying to spend five of them, not in meditation, which had become next to impossible, but in contemplation. He was surprised to find that he was heeding Doctor McCoy's advice, at least to a certain extent; the Doctor had bid him turn to his other half, and, since Spock could not seem to channel his confusion through his Vulcan side, he was making an attempt at turning to the part of him which was human.

Surprisingly, Spock seemed to be regaining some small measure of control by this. It was, however, also forcing him to bring his emotions much closer to the surface than he would prefer, and he was keenly and uncomfortably aware that his inner battle was no longer entirely hidden beneath his skin.

The Doctor, for his part, had acquired an irritating habit of appearing whenever Spock had a particular desire _not_ to see him. Spock had to admit to himself that this was most of the time. It was odd, because the Doctor seemed to have made up his mind to point out to Spock all the disadvantages of the Vulcan's leaving the ship. It was odd, because Spock had always had the decided impression that Doctor McCoy did not really enjoy his company much. Indeed, the feeling was mutual.

Today, when Spock heard a short, impatient knock at his door, he did not question who might be disturbing him in his rare and precious moments of peace, but rather _what_ could be the indefatigable Doctor's newest pretext for doing so.

Heaving a sigh, Spock rose from his reclining position and released the lock on the door. The moment the door slid aside, Doctor McCoy, in his usual abrupt manner, strode through into Spock's quarters and fixed the Vulcan with a determined expression.

"I've thought of a counter-argument," he said, his eyes alight with something vaguely resembling triumph as he pointed a finger at Spock.

Spock assumed the Doctor must be referring to their conversation of the previous evening, and had become so accustomed to Doctor McCoy's particular mode of discussion that he no longer felt the need to question why this counter-argument had been formulated so long after the actual debate, and why said argument needed to be articulated at this particular time. Spock simply placed his hands behind his back, and, taking care not to look _too_ exasperated, fixed his attention on Doctor McCoy.

"You said you wanted to expand your knowledge of science," the Doctor said. "Well, what better place to do that than here? We're discovering new things all the time. Just look at this quasar. Biggest we've ever seen. Must mean something tremendous. See? Lots of interesting opportunities. Stay."

Spock raised a supercilious eyebrow. "Forgive me, Doctor, but it seems that the nearly thirteen hours since last we spoke is an inordinately long time to have spent on something as insubstantial as that argument." The Doctor grimaced. Spock continued, "It seems that you might have thought of this yesterday."

Doctor McCoy crossed his arms huffily over his chest. "I was … tired yesterday," he grumbled.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Fatigue, then, has rather a substantial impact on your cognitive process," he deduced evenly. "Might I assume that you are often tired?"

The direct rudeness of this statement was such that it would normally have caused Spock a twinge of shame. Now, however, the expression on the Doctor's face merely gave him the highly unusual urge to laugh.

He managed to restrain himself.

"You know, Spock," Doctor McCoy said, with a slightly petulant frown, "you're really very funny when you want to be." Spock raised an eyebrow. "But you're not fooling me," the Doctor added. "You're not leaving because you want to. You're leaving because it's the only thing your Vulcan mind can come up with."

Now Spock frowned, and his heartbeat increased marginally. "I do not believe I understand –" he started, but Doctor McCoy interrupted him.

"You understand just fine," he said brusquely. "You know very well you're leaving because of Jim."

For a moment, Spock's mind halted in its tracks. Behind his back, both his hands twitched unpleasantly. He knew he had not been performing to his usual standards in terms of his emotional control, but he could never have imagined that his self-maintenance was so poor that his feelings for Jim had been visible even to Doctor McCoy. Spock attempted to retain a neutral façade, but he knew he was not successful.

"The Captain is –"

"Your friend?" the Doctor interjected. Spock felt a cold, uncomfortable sensation creep into the pit of his stomach. "He was, you know. But you insist on pushing everything away, and even Jim has his limits."

Doctor McCoy's expression was earnest and compassionate. The look seemed unusual to Spock. Perhaps he was not as well acquainted with the Doctor as he might be. Nevertheless, this incessant pestering was getting on his all-too exposed nerves, and the Doctor's friendship with Captain Kirk did not automatically grant him access to Spock's feelings on the subject.

"I do not see what this conversation pertains to," he said coolly. "My relationship with the Captain is and has always been an amicably professional one."

Doctor McCoy snorted loudly. "Professional, my ass," he growled. "Amicable, my great aunt Judy."

Spock did not even attempt to decipher the meaning of this gibberish, and instead moved past the Doctor and out into the hallway. To his frustration, Doctor McCoy followed. He did not speak as they strode down the hall, but once they were inside the turbolift, he started once more.

"You need to tell him, Spock," McCoy said urgently. "You need to let him know that you –"

Spock turned swiftly, his eyes piercing. "_What_, Doctor?" he snapped. "I have attempted to make sense of your ramblings, but it is becoming increasingly difficult. What kind of information is it that I am required to divulge? What sort of imaginary scenario has your highly illogical brain concocted?"

His temper was rising quickly, and there was little he could presently do to control it. He sincerely hoped that Doctor McCoy would come to his senses and leave this topic alone, for Spock was in no state to humor him at the moment.

However, Doctor McCoy simply halted the turbolift and altered his approach.

"Jim cares about you," he said seriously.

Spock's heart made a small, involuntary leap, but he wouldn't allow himself to become hopeful. He was aware that Jim cared for him, but Jim did not care for him the way Spock would have liked, Jim did not care for him the way Spock had, gradually, come to _need_.

Reaching over, Spock restarted the turbolift and then fixed Doctor McCoy with a cold gaze. "Captain Kirk cares for all of his crew," he said, trying to keep any telling emotion out of his tone. "It is a significant part of what makes him such an admirable Captain."

Doctor McCoy opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but at that moment they arrived on the Bridge, and, taking immediate advantage of the open doors, Spock hastened through them and strode over to his post. Thankfully, the Doctor did not follow him this time. Apparently, he had enough sense to realize that the Bridge was hardly the place for conversations about emotions and relationships.

Out of the corner of his eye, Spock saw that Doctor McCoy walked calmly over to the Captain, who had his eyes focused on the view screen, where a vast amount of electronic energy and visible light formed a luminous, disc-like phenomenon. The Doctor also turned his eyes towards the view screen and clenched his fists tightly.

"How close to that thing do you plan on getting?" he said nervously.

Captain Kirk kept his eyes on the quasar. "Close enough to get readings," he answered dully. "If you're uncomfortable, you should go back down to Sickbay."

Doctor McCoy, frowning deeply, crossed his arms over his chest, but said nothing, and did not move. _Very well_, Spock thought. At least the Doctor's fear would keep him occupied for the time being. Far from feeling sorry for him, Spock felt relieved.

He turned to his instrumentation and attempted to focus his scanner on the quasar, but, as he had predicted, the Enterprise was still not close enough to get readings more specific than great outputs of energy. As always with these phenomena, however, they walked a fine line between getting close enough, and getting _too_ close. Powerful redshifts could cause violent fluctuations both in temperature, light and gravitational pull, and it was vital to constantly and closely monitor the ship's position, as well as and in relation to the activity outside the vessel.

"Any readings yet, Mr. Spock?" Captain Kirk inquired, his gaze fixed stoically on the view screen.

"None that will be of any value to Starfleet, Captain," Spock responded evenly.

The Captain made no response to this, but turned to the Helmsman with a small frown on his face. "Take her down to impulse speed, Mr. Sulu," he said. "Steady ahead. Keep your eye on those readings, Mr. Spock," he added unnecessarily.

Spock felt a twinge of annoyance, but he deftly put it aside.

The Enterprise inched forwards gradually, the Captain every once in a while ordering a decrease in speed. After approximately fifty-two minutes of this, Spock's scanner was finally able to pick up significant information, and the Captain ordered the ship to make a full stop.

"But make sure we're ready to zoom out of here the second that thing gets hostile," he said to the Bridge at large, none of whom seemed inclined to disagree with this order.

Spock immediately set to work analyzing his readings and making a detailed log of everything from fluctuations in light, heat and energy to radio wave emissions and electromagnetic activity. Quasars were a source of interest to the Federation precisely because of their immeasurable energy capacities; the most luminous objects in the known universe, their brilliance averaged two trillion times that of the Terran sun. No known, current technology would allow them to move close enough to the phenomenon to properly analyze, or harness, its power, but if they could gather enough information, they might eventually be able to find a way to use the copious amounts of energy to their advantage.

The work required Spock's full concentration, and demanded an attention to minute detail that most people would find tedious. Spock loved it. Focusing all his mental faculties on scientific discovery and analysis brought him a feeling of freedom unlike anything else he experienced. Emotion was irrelevant here, and there was no place for the mind to wander if one had any desire to achieve useful results. It was an intense kind of discipline, but to Spock, it was one of the things that came to him most naturally.

For one hour and twenty-six minutes, there was no room to think of anything but the task at hand. For one hour and twenty-six minutes, there was no room to think of Jim, despite the fact that he was so tantalizingly close. For one hour and twenty-six minutes, Spock was in complete control of himself.

However, the aforementioned unstable nature of quasars, as well as the amount of radiation they exuded, made it imperative that Starfleet vessels not linger too long in their vicinity; so, after one hour and twenty-six minutes, the Captain inquired whether Spock had acquired a decent amount of information, and, receiving a positive reply, ordered the Enterprise to withdraw.

"We're going to head to Starbase 11," Captain Kirk said unenthusiastically. "Plot in a course, Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Sulu hesitated, and turned around to look at Captain Kirk with a cautiously inquisitive expression.

"Sir," he said, "I was under the impression that we were supposed to be heading onwards. Starbase 11 is a week away, heading back the way we came."

"There has been a change of plan," the Captain responded curtly, and he cast a glance at Spock, though his eyes did not seek out Spock's; they only flashed briefly towards his right shoulder, as if direct eye contact had somehow become a crossing of unseen boundaries. "We're going to Starbase 11 to pick up a new crew member," Captain Kirk went on to explain, and Spock felt the ever-growing knot in his stomach tighten unpleasantly. "I'll explain the circumstances later. Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."

He rose, and Mr. Sulu looked slightly taken aback at this sudden relay of command, but he nodded and finished plotting in the course for the Starbase before moving over to the Captain's chair.

Captain Kirk walked briskly away. He had reached the turbolift when he turned and, still not making eye contact, looked at Spock.

"Mr. Spock, if you would come with me," he said, his tone very businesslike.

Spock's brain made a furious and fruitless attempt to come up with some reason why his staying at his station was a much better idea, but, due no doubt to his present chaotic state of mind, he came up completely and unusually blank. His remaining logical faculties took a moment to analyze his hesitation, and he realized that this was the first time he and the Captain would be in conference alone since Spock had told his former friend of his impending departure. So, rising from his seat, and deducing that this one-on-one interview could not and would not be pleasant, he walked over to the Captain, and the two of them entered the turbolift together.

They said nothing as the doors closed. They said nothing as the lift moved to its destination. They said nothing as they moved down the hallways, and they said nothing as they stepped into one of the smaller conference rooms on level three. It was only when the doors were closed, and when Kirk and Spock stood facing each other, both men with hands clasped behind their backs, that the Captain spoke.

"When Lieutenant Commander Neville arrives on board this ship, you will be required to spend some time training him in the specific functions and duties as Science Officer aboard this vessel." The Captain's voice was low and monotonous. Spock felt a jolt somewhere in his midriff, as if he had taken a light blow to the ribcage. The idea that he should have to train his own replacement was, at the moment, nothing short of torturous to him, although he was also extremely annoyed with himself for not realizing the inevitability of this scheme. Who, after all, could possibly train the new Science Officer better than Spock, who had had years of experience onboard the Enterprise?

Nevertheless, Spock found it inordinately difficult to form a coherent response. "I –" he started, then stopped. He breathed silently, forcing his heart to slow its pace. He was feeling faintly nauseated. "I will naturally be … happy to assist in any way as to … facilitate the transition," he said finally, his speech very much lacking in its natural flow; the words came out sounding choppy and artificial.

Captain Kirk finally met Spock's gaze, and his eyes were vacant and utterly devoid of emotion. "Good," he said flatly. "We'll be at the Starbase in about six days –"

"Five days and twenty-one hours is a closer estimate, Sir," Spock interrupted automatically.

The Captain actually glared at him. "Whatever," he said indifferently. "As I was saying, we'll be at the Starbase in about six days, and Mr. Neville needs an introduction into the particular functions and requirements of this ship. The faster you get his introductory training done, the faster you can leave."

Spock frowned, although his desire was currently more bent towards screaming. "You … wish me to depart as soon as possible," he said, his voice sounding very small as it came out.

To Spock's great astonishment, Captain Kirk laughed. It was a hollow, breezy sound, and all the while the Captain put a hand to his right temple and rubbed it forcefully. "Yes, Spock," he said bitterly. "Yes, I want you to leave as soon as possible. This was, after all, all _my_ idea, wasn't it? Your leaving? I just want to get rid of you as quickly as I can."

"You are employing sarcasm," Spock said quietly.

"Yes, Spock," Captain Kirk responded humorlessly. "I was making a point out of the fact that I was never the one who wanted you to leave. I simply thought that since being aboard this ship is apparently so distasteful to you, you would want to get out of here as quickly as you could."

Spock was still for a moment, then he shook his head. "Being here is not distasteful to me."

Kirk shook his head and waved his hand in an exasperated fashion. "I'm not having this conversation again," he said irritably. "You won't tell me what the problem is, and I'm done asking. You're leaving and that's that. But as long as you refuse to inform me of the real problem, you can't stop me from making assumptions."

Spock sighed. "No, Captain. However –"

Once more, the Captain waved him off. "I don't care," he said coldly, then, his voice lower, "I shouldn't become so personally invested in my crew. It's a failing of mine." He lifted his eyes to Spock's with a kind of fierce energy. "But trust me, I'm working on it."

There was a moment of silence in which Spock attempted to interpret these words. He desperately wished that he could imbue them with some sense of his own desires, of a reality where the Captain's feeling for him could break free of the platonic realm. Indeed, sometimes he could almost imagine glimpses of romance in the Captain's looks, but in these cases, Spock's logical mind would remind him that Captain Kirk was a very charismatic person, whose appearance and behavior very often tended towards the flirtatious; occasions of such attention towards himself did not signify any attraction on the Captain's part; Jim was simply being himself.

Spock's hands, already behind his back, gripped each other with a little more force. "Your relationship with your crew is, perhaps, unusual," Spock said as evenly as he could, feeling that he must say this, "and at times it might be … a complicating factor. However, it also ensures that your crew members feel safe, and wanted. You are unique, Captain. You should not seek to alter yourself."

Jim's eyes were dark. "Then why are you leaving me?"

Spock felt his throat constrict. "I am not leaving _you_."

But that was a lie. It was an utterly unmitigated lie. The shock of this realization seemed to set a momentary halt to Spock's entire system. Vulcans could not lie. They could embellish the truth, yes, could talk very elegant circles around verifiable facts, but direct lies were not permitted them. Amidst everything else, Spock felt a burning shame rise up from his stomach to settle, smoldering unpleasantly, in his chest. A sense that he was losing contact with his Vulcan self fed the fear and uncertainty within him, and he suddenly had a nearly desperate need to be alone.

Jim must have noticed some change in Spock's expression, for, a faint trace of concern flashing across his face, he said,

"Spock, what is it?"

Spock hastily shook his head, averting his eyes. "Nothing, it is nothing." He turned to the door. "I must ask leave to return to my quarters."

The sound of rushing blood was pounding in his head. Jim took a step forwards so that he was once more directly in front of Spock, a pronounced frown on his face.

"Your shift doesn't end for another four hours," he said plainly.

Spock had forgotten.

He shook his head in a pathetic attempt to clear it and, his voice sounding strained and very unlike himself, he said, "Yes. Yes, I … am aware. I would like to request a moment … a moment to myself."

Jim raised his eyebrows. "Are you not feeling well?" he asked, clearly not inclined to simply grant Spock's wish without any further inquiry.

Something was building up, a tense, uncomfortable sensation Spock didn't know what to do with. It was coursing through his veins, making his extremities throb. He shook his head again.

"I am … quite well, Captain," he said unconvincingly. "I simply require a few minutes –"

"To do what?" Jim pressed stanchly.

Spock took a deep breath, and with a sense that he was pressing an immeasurable weight of unresolved issues into a flimsy, tiny container, managed to rearrange his face into what was probably a pathetic imitation of his usual, detached expression.

"Never mind, Captain," he said, and his voice was oddly calm all of a sudden. "I will return to my post."

He moved rather swiftly towards the door, and, to his exasperation, Jim followed.

"Spock," he said quietly.

Spock did not respond. They exited the conference room and moved down the hallway, where, to Spock's relief, the steady flow of people made continuing their discussion an impossibility. As Spock veered right for one of the turbolifts, the Captain turned left, and Spock found himself entering the lift by himself. As the doors closed, an intense feeling of relief washed over him, and, for a few seconds, his muscles, always tense these days, relaxed.

A minute later he was back on the Bridge, where the view screen showed the Enterprise flying quickly through space, their way unobstructed and, as far as they could presently divine, unproblematic. Spock once more installed himself in front of his station.

The Captain reappeared ten minutes later, and he was accompanied by Admiral Bryant, who had an illogical way of appearing to take up the entire room as he stepped off the turbolift.

Spock eyed the Admiral and Captain Kirk frowningly. He did not particularly like the Admiral. He was much too bombastic, and seemed to operate on a very different wavelength than Spock. His tendency to collect a large variety of items, not for their functional or spiritual value, but for the esthetic pleasure they gave him, or else just because he found them interesting, was curious to Spock. Spock had noticed a depiction of the Vulcan katra in the Admiral's office when he and Jim had visited it several months ago, but he had never inquired of the Admiral why he had placed it there, or why, indeed, he owned such a depiction in the first place.

However, Admiral Bryant was well liked on the ship. The Enterprise crew had, from experience, become accustomed to knowing Starfleet officials as people who would complicate their operations rather than assist them, so it was a pleasant change to have an Admiral onboard who actually sought to work _with_ them rather than against them. Spock could not deny this fact either, and it was not that he had any strong dislike for Admiral Bryant, it was just that he and the Admiral were somewhat incompatible as people.

Admiral Bryant was also, naturally, privy to the fact that Spock was leaving the ship, and his surprise upon hearing the news had been such that he had not since been able to keep himself from constantly inquiring into Spock's reasoning, which was making the Vulcan even more uncomfortable than he already felt.

The Captain and Admiral Bryant moved over to the center chair, where Jim immediately sat down and shot Spock a glance that informed him, quite succinctly, that their quarrel was very far from forgotten.

The Admiral positioned himself next to the Captain, who requested to know whether there had been any significant change since he had been gone. After receiving the response that nothing had changed apart from their position, he leaned back and he and the Admiral continued going through standard procedures aboard the Enterprise, about which the Admiral had expressed an interest to be informed.

Spock turned back to his station, where, instead of finding his customary focus, his mind began to wander aimlessly. His eyes never left his screen, but he only discerned its information as if from behind a thick veil which seemed to cover his brain and made his vision foggy and unfocused.

He did not like this lack of concentration. He knew it was the price he had to pay for allowing his human side to take the reins, but he looked very much forward to a time and place where he could once more regain a sense of that self which he had spent so many years building. His Vulcan side could sometimes be a burden, but it was also, irrevocably, the dominant part of himself, and he felt intense pride in this heritage. He had been taught to feel shame in his human weaknesses, yet he had never seen humans as lower beings. They were simply less centered, less efficient. Spock truly wished to be Vulcan. As he had spent so many years working alongside humans, many of whom he respected greatly, he had come to mind his human side less and less, still, it was not the side of him he wished to cultivate.

_Yet, if I had been human, could Jim have loved me then?_

The thought rose, unbidden and unpleasant, within Spock's mind. He himself felt no revulsion in the idea of being intimate with someone of a different species, but it was by no means certain that Jim felt the same way. Perhaps his Vulcan side was the problem?

Spock shook his head, irritated with himself as he realized just how absurd this particular fear was. After all, had he not, resentfully, witnessed Jim show interest in one alien girl after the other? Spock realized that his doubts and fears were very quickly and disturbingly building up a powerful blockade against what was left of his cool, calm logic.

Spock shook his head again, and, with some difficulty, he refocused his attention on his station.

He frowned. To the right of his scanner, a green indicator light was blinking softly. He started and hurriedly bent over his scanner. He straightened up only a few seconds later and immediately spun around in his chair.

"Captain!" he said with some urgency. "Strong antiproton readings. Straight ahead."

The entirety of the Bridge crew turned abruptly to regard him. Jim sprang up from his chair and, no more trace of their disagreements on his face, he hurried over to Spock where he could see with his own eyes the readings Spock had just announced.

"Damn it," he said softly, then, turning back around, "Chekov!" The Russian jumped a little in his seat. "Shields up! And ready the photon torpedoes." He turned back to Spock. "Spock, do we believe these to be the same aliens?"

Spock nodded. "The antiproton trace is very similar, and the notion that it should emanate from a completely different vessel that also happens to use this energy form, and that the Enterprise should happen upon such another vessel so soon after the primary encounter, is highly unlikely. We must assume this is the alien threat we attempted to capture two and a half weeks ago."

The Captain frowned. "Can you get a fix on them?" he asked.

"I will try, Captain."

Jim, instead of simply nodding and turning back to the Bridge at large, regarded Spock with an uncomfortably searching expression.

"You say these are strong readings?" he inquired slowly.

Spock hesitated. "Yes," he responded.

"And they just appeared out of nowhere?"

Spock had never experienced this before. The knowledge that he had performed his duty inadequately created in him a feeling of such shame that he was certain said feeling was creeping up into his face.

"I must assume they came from _somewhere_, Captain," he said, with a pitiable attempt at his habitual tone of scientific deduction.

Jim's expression did not alter. "But you only just noticed the trace?" he pressed.

Spock could not respond. Fortunately, an angry little beep over by Ensign Chekov's station seemed to make the Captain arrive at the conclusion that there was no more time for investigations into Spock's capabilities as Science Officer; he sent Spock one final look of skepticism, then he returned swiftly to his chair

"I'm getting something, Captain," Ensign Chekov said excitedly.

Spock, who had turned back to his station, could confirm this statement. "We are receiving information on the enemy ship," he said. "It seems to be roughly the size of the Enterprise."

"Isn't it cloaked?" Captain Kirk asked, squinting out of the view screen as if expecting the enemy ship to appear there.

"Maybe their cloaking device was damaged in our last encounter with them," Lieutenant Sulu suggested.

Spock attempted to come back into his stride. "They have had an abundance of time in which to repair their device, if indeed it was damaged. With technology of that sophistication, they are probably capable of mending their devices with more speed than your suggestion would indicate, Lieutenant."

The Lieutenant nodded thoughtfully. "They could have had more violent meetings since then," he said.

"That is, naturally, entirely possible," Spock concurred. "However, I believe they might simply be allowing us to view them."

"They still seem to be suffering from a slight case of invisibility, though," Admiral Bryant said.

"What's their speed?" Captain Kirk asked.

Spock bent over his scanner. "They are traveling at sub-warp speeds, Captain," he replied. "Might I suggest that we decrease our speed as well? It would be unwise to show any undue hostility."

"_Undue hostility_," Ensign Chekov muttered, as Captain Kirk gave the order to reduce speed. "They blew up our Starbase. Hostility would not exactly be _undue_."

Captain Kirk turned to look at him. "Let's remember the amount of damage they did to that Starbase, Ensign," he said, his voice calm, but his eyes fiery. "We don't want to end up like the people who worked there." He looked out of the view screen for a moment. "However," he continued, and now his voice, too, had a hard, forceful edge, "if they can give no satisfactory reason as to their destruction of the Starbase, and all those lives, and if they can give no promise to stop their unnecessary belligerence, then I promise you, Ensign, there _will_ be more than a little hostility."

A slight smile curved the Ensign's mouth. "Good," he said. "They should not get away with it."

The Captain turned his eyes back to the view screen, and for a moment, a very faraway look came over his face. "No," he said, very quietly. "They should not."

Admiral Bryant patted the Captain's arm in a fatherly sort of way. "Starfleet is fully behind you on this, Kirk," he said. "But it would probably be wise to heed your Science Officer." He winked at Spock, who raised an eyebrow. "No aggression until we have a better idea of what they want."

Captain Kirk nodded. "Of course," he said, sounding like he would much rather fire their entire store of photon torpedoes at the enemy vessel without pausing to ask so much as a single question. Instead, he turned to Spock. "Distance to alien craft?"

"Approximately fifty-three thousand kilometers," Spock responded, looking at his equipment.

Jim once more turned towards the view screen, his eyes intense. Then, "Full stop."

Lieutenant Sulu turned in his seat to look at him. "Full stop, Sir?" he asked, sounding like he needed to have this order confirmed.

"Full stop," the Captain repeated decisively.

Admiral Bryant wrinkled his nose and looked down at Jim with a slightly skeptical expression. "Are you certain that's a wise plan?" he asked.

Jim's hands tightened their hold on his armrests. His eyes remained unswervingly focused on a point somewhere on the view screen.

"Full. Stop," he said for the third time, and Lieutenant Sulu, looking a little nervous, started to bring the Enterprise to a halt.

Spock knew precisely what Jim was doing, and felt that it was a risky, but appropriate course of action.

"These enemies clearly value hostility," Spock explained, "yet most species to whom belligerence is a significant merit, also value strength, and power. Taking a firm stance against these aliens might imbue them with a sense of respect, of equality."

"Or it will just provide them with a really easy target," Lieutenant Sulu said cynically.

"Which will make our deaths quick and painless," Ensign Chekov supplied. A tittering of nervous laughter followed.

The Enterprise came to a complete stop.

"Approximate distance to enemy ship, twenty-two thousand kilometers," Spock informed. "They seem to be reducing speed. Estimate head-on encounter in one minute, forty-one seconds."

"Increase power to forward shields," Captain Kirk ordered.

"Aye, Sir," Ensign Chekov responded.

Then they waited.

One minute passed by. The alien vessel continued to decrease velocity, and seemed, like the Enterprise, to be coming to a full stop.

With thirty-one seconds left until the encounter, both vessels were standing perfectly still, facing each other. The Enterprise bridge crew seemed to be holding its collective breath. Spock watched his monitors unwaveringly, keeping a close lookout for any readings by which he could attempt some kind of an identification of the vessel, as well as monitoring any signs of hostility. For now, however, the other craft simply seemed to be assessing its opponent, just as the Enterprise was endeavoring to do.

"Uhura," Captain Kirk said after a few moments of intense silence. "Play this message on all frequencies, in all known languages and codes."

"Aye, Sir." Lieutenant Uhura put a finger to her earpiece and flicked a few switches on her console. "Frequency open."

"This is Captain James T. Kirk, of the Federation starship Enterprise," the Captain said in his ringing, commanding voice. "We ask that you identify yourselves and your business in this quadrant."

Silence.

Captain Kirk turned to Lieutenant Uhura.

"Nothing, Sir," she said, anticipating his question.

"Perhaps I should try," Admiral Bryant offered. Spock did not see what good this could possibly do. If these aliens were not going to respond to Captain Kirk, there was no reason to expect them to respond to Admiral Bryant, just because he had a slightly higher rank.

Still, the Admiral's suggestion was accepted.

"I am Admiral Bryant, of the USS Federation of Planets," he said loudly. "We once more ask you to identify yourselves and your business in this quadrant."

More silence.

The Captain sighed and rubbed his forehead with a frustrated hand. Then,

"Look!"

It was Yeoman Waltham who had spoken, and she pointed towards the view screen, where space was suddenly becoming distorted, and the large, strange shape of the alien vessel was taking form. The top part was dome-shaped, with three distinct ridges that ran down the front. At the middle there were two protrusions, between which ran a bright, white line, presumably made of some sort of electrical charge. These protrusions were vaguely triangular in shape, with straight, wide lines that were fastened one in the lower top and one in the upper bottom half of the ship. The lower half was also dome-shaped, but smaller than the top.

Having made a brief visual assessment of the craft, Spock bent over his scanner, to see if any new information would now be accessible to him there.

Apparently the device that was hindering the Enterprise crew from seeing the alien craft also protected its information from their scanners. Now that the other vessel was visible, its outer makeup could be analyzed by Spock's scanner.

The outer hull, Spock discovered, was made of a very standard metal alloy, and there was nothing immediately remarkable about it. The shape of the craft did not seem ideal for great speeds, which might explain why the alien vessel had not simply tried to outrun the Enterprise the first time they had encountered one another. In fact, Spock realized, it was highly possible that warp one was the highest velocity the enemy ship was capable of achieving. Perhaps their flying capabilities were not as impressive as their weapons.

It was, however, impossible for Spock to get any material readings of the interior of the other craft, so, when he had analyzed its exterior makeup and functions and relayed these to Captain Kirk, there was little else he could do.

And still, the other vessel refused to acknowledge their signal.

"Do you get any reading on their shields?" the Captain asked, a few, fruitless moments later.

"Their shields are up, Captain," Ensign Chekov responded. "They seem pretty similar to ours."

The Captain let out a frustrated breath. "Why aren't they doing anything?" he said exasperatedly. "And why won't they respond? How long do they expect us to sit here glaring at each other?"

He looked at Lieutenant Uhura, who responded with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "I don't know, Captain. I am playing both your message and the Admiral's continuously, but I am not receiving –"

She broke off. Captain Kirk tensed in his chair, and all the Bridge crew were suddenly completely silent. Lieutenant Uhura pressed a finger to her earpiece, a concentrated frown on her face. Then she pressed a few buttons on her console, and an androgynous, pleasant-sounding voice filled the room.

"Captain James T. Kirk of the Federation starship Enterprise," it said quietly. "You are a very stubborn man."

Captain Kirk sat up straight in his chair, his eyebrows contracting in a surprised frown. Spock, too, felt a certain sense of astonishment in hearing this voice, which sounded all-too familiar.

"Can you get me visual?" the Captain inquired hurriedly, turning to Lieutenant Uhura.

"I'll try, Sir," the Lieutenant responded.

Captain Kirk turned back to the view screen. "I have given you my name," he said loudly. "I would like to know who you are."

A calm, sinister laugh could be heard from the creature on the other end. "Giving up your name, rank and operation is your prerogative, Captain Kirk," it said. "You cannot, however, expect me to act with the same amount of foolishness."

The Captain took a breath. "Where we come from, it is considered common decency," he said, "not foolishness."

"Then it is no wonder that your people are such easy prey," the voice responded evenly.

Spock could see an angry flush creeping up into the Captain's cheeks. Spock knew he must not only be thinking of the many co-workers that had lost their lives in the destruction of Starbase 15, but also of his personal friend, the late Commodore Mallory.

Captain Kirk set his jaw determinedly. "You should know that the Federation does not take kindly to the destruction of its property and personnel," he said, an edge to his tone which revealed very plainly to all that knew him, how much control he was currently exercising over his desire to yell and curse.

There was a short silence on the other end. Then,

"Your Federation does not seem very capable of protecting its assets."

The Captain's eyes narrowed dangerously. "We're capable," he contradicted coldly. "And you _will_ be expected to pay the price for the devastation you have caused." He turned to Lieutenant Uhura. "How is the visual coming?" he whispered.

"I'm working on it, Sir," the Lieutenant said. "Their protective systems are keeping me out."

"How is it that you expect to _make us pay_, Captain Kirk?" the voice continued, not sounding particularly concerned. "Our weapons have been proven far superior to yours, and we can hide our vessel from your instruments, something it appears that you are unable to do."

Spock felt it was time to speak. "Your statement is illogical," he said, loudly and clearly. The Captain turned to look at him. "Your weapons have not been proven superior, you have simply been successful in catching an unsuspecting Starbase off-guard. Secondly, we have already demonstrated that we are perfectly capable of following your trail. This means that is impossible for you to hide yourselves completely."

There was another moment of silence on the other end, and, just then, the image on the view screen changed, and the interior of the enemy ship was suddenly visible.

The Bridge crew took a moment to process what they were seeing.

In a large chair directly facing them, sat a long, slim, humanoid personage, his skin chalk white, his hair jet black and pulled severely back from his face. His eyes, so like humans', only slightly larger, were violently purple. Behind him, standing in various positions and at various stations, were many more just like him, their skins of all different colors, but their eyes of that same, remarkable purple.

"They look exactly like the Alaerians," Ensign Chekov whispered, sounding slightly awe-struck.

He was right. Except for one thing: Where the Alaerians had displayed close to no feeling in their expressions, whoever these aliens were, they were showing emotions quite a strongly as humans were wont to do. Now, what Spock must assume to be the leader was conversing quickly and quietly with his crew, a clearly agitated expression on his face.

Admiral Bryant frowned. "These are the aliens you encountered before?" he asked quietly.

"No," Captain Kirk responded. "Yes," he amended, then, "No. I don't know. They look the same – why do they look the same?"

He turned to Spock, as if expecting him to have some kind of answer. Spock, who had no more knowledge of this particular species than the Captain did, could not oblige him with any clarifying information.

"I do not know, Captain," he answered honestly.

"Could the Alaerians and these aliens be descendant from the same race? Like Vulcans and Romulans?"

Spock raised his eyebrows by way of a shrug. "It is possible, Captain," he responded.

"Did Iarna mention anything like this to you?" the Captain pressed, his voice imbued with a an odd, indefinable quality.

Spock shook his head. "He did not."

The Captain returned his gaze to the view screen, where the aliens were still conferring in hushed whispers. Apparently, Captain Kirk decided to throw caution to the winds, for, addressing himself to the aliens, he said,

"We have recently met an alien race that looks a lot like you."

As one, the aliens turned to their own view screen; they had matching expressions of surprise on their faces. A small, satisfied smile appeared at the corner of Jim's mouth, and Spock knew he was privately enjoying the aliens' confusion.

"You may have underestimated our technology," he said calmly, although his tone held a definite hint of smugness.

Apparently the alien captain also recognized the inflection, for his eyes narrowed dangerously. "You mock us," he said, his tone menacing.

Captain Kirk raised his eyebrows. "No," he replied. "Not at all. I'm simply pointing out to you that you might want to rethink your prior assessment of our abilities." He leaned forward in his chair. "Now I would really like to know what you're doing here, and where you've come from."

The alien captain's expression did not alter. "I see no reason to divulge that information," he responded curtly.

"Chekov, arm photon torpedoes," the Captain said under his breath, then, in a louder, more commanding voice, "Unless you tell us who you are and what you want, we will have no choice but to open fire against you. Your weapon is powerful, yes, but you have already witnessed that our shields are perfectly capable of holding up against it. I wonder if the same can be said of your shields?"

A corner of the alien captain's mouth twitched irritably. "Perhaps we shall have to try and see," he said acridly.

"Or we could simply avoid violent confrontation, and use our words, like civilized beings," Jim countered, his confidence, as always, impressive. The alien captain said nothing. Something like an idea seemed to pass across Jim's face. He leaned back in his chair. "You're scared," he said boldly. The alien captain's eyes widened angrily. "That's why you won't tell us who you are."

A furious murmur ran through the alien ship, and the Enterprise crew could see the aliens conferring with each other animatedly. Only the captain remained reasonably still.

"This is a matter of tactics, Captain Kirk," he said slowly. "Surely you understand that."

There was a twinkle in Jim's eye. "You call it tactics, I call it cowardice," he responded unyieldingly.

The alien captain's lips curled. Spock had always been fascinated with Captain Kirk's ability to manipulate his adversaries. His methods were unorthodox, and sometimes illogical, but this, Spock had to admit, seemed to be the reason that they worked so well. There were not many captains in the fleet that would risk accusing the alien that had destroyed an entire Starbase of cowardice. The Vulcan experienced one of his increasingly frequent pangs of regret. He would miss this man. He would miss him more than he could express.

Another, hasty conference was happening aboard the alien ship, but Spock knew the Enterprise had already made a significant impact. These aliens were, just as Spock had conjectured, and similarly to the Klingons, intensely prideful. They would not allow their enemies to call them spineless. In this first battle of wits, it appeared Captain Kirk had won.

Next to the Captain, the Admiral had set up a broad stance, his back unwaveringly straight, and his chest out. His presence seemed extraordinarily large. His eyes were bright and fearless. Ensign Chekov was monitoring the weapons systems tirelessly, and Lieutenant Sulu was staring, apparently transfixed, out of the view screen towards the aliens who looked so jarringly familiar.

The turbolift doors slid open, and Doctor McCoy stepped out, followed by Ensign Christopher; both of them took one look out of the view screen before their faces broke into similar frowns of confusion. They walked over to the Captain's chair, and Jim turned and motioned for them to be quiet.

At that moment, the alien captain decided to speak.

"I am called Marek," he said flatly. "We are the Turrentels."

"If you hadn't destroyed one of our outposts and killed a lot of our people, I might have said nice to meet you," Captain Kirk said humorlessly. "As it is, I think we should have a conversation face to face."

Marek raised an eyebrow and his purple irises seemed to darken. "Pretty speech from the Captain who refuses to show his," he said.

Captain Kirk motioned towards Lieutenant Uhura. "Transmit full visual to the Turrentels," he said.

A short moment passed in which the Turrentel Captain appeared to assess the appearances of the Enterprise Bridge crew. Then he leaned back in his chair, his expression disdaining.

"How do you propose we set about orchestrating this meeting?" he asked, one dark eyebrow lifted.

"I would suggest you transport over here," Captain Kirk said unabashedly.

Marek's eyebrow remained elevated; he looked unimpressed. "This seems like a singularly bad idea, Captain Kirk," he responded. "When I am onboard, what is to stop you from simply taking my life?"

Captain Kirk rose to his feet. "The same thing that stops us from randomly attacking other planets and peoples:" he answered, his tone hard, "Decency."

Marek let out a small, breezy laugh. "Ah," he said. "_Decency_. An interesting word. It does not hold much weight with me."

Spock could see the Captain's provocation very clearly, although he was not certain anyone else could. He himself was suddenly aware of a feeling of uncommonly tense anger. He stepped forwards.

"You need not tell us that," he said roughly.

Captain Kirk turned abruptly to look at him, and Spock could not tell what he was thinking, but he motioned towards Spock and, turning back to Marek, said,

"This is my First Officer, Spock."

Marek frowned, looking from Spock to Captain Kirk. "On my vessel the First Officer only speaks when spoken to," he said haughtily.

Spock, feeling distinctly belittled, raised an eyebrow superciliously and placed his hands behind his back. Captain Kirk once more turned his eyes to him, and a curiously playful expression flashed momentarily across his face.

"We speak freely on this ship," he said, his eyes still on Spock. He then redirected his attention to Marek, and his face was a mask of gravity once more. "You have my solemn word that you will be entirely safe while you are here."

Marek narrowed his eyes and stared at the Captain for quite some time. Then he beckoned to his other crew members, and they bent towards him. For several minutes, they appeared to confer. Finally, Marek turned back towards his own view screen, and his and Captain Kirk's eyes met with a kind of stubborn, furious energy.

"I will accept your proposal," Marek said, after a drawn-out pause, "with some conditions."

"Name them," Captain Kirk said, with just a touch of impatience.

"My crew must be regularly updated on my wellbeing."

"The radio contact between our two ships will be constantly maintained. My Communications Officer, Lieutenant Uhura, will see that any and all questions you have will be speedily answered."

"You will allow me to carry my weapons with me at all times."

"You may bring one weapon with you."

"Of my choosing."

"Within reason, yes."

Marek took another few moments to glare steadily at Captain Kirk. Then he inclined his head regally, once more reminding Spock somewhat forcibly of the Alaerians.

"Very well," he said. "I will transport over to your vessel, and we will talk. You must let down your shields to permit me to come through."

Captain Kirk's expression was stony. "We will make the necessary arrangements," he said tonelessly, "don't worry about that."

Without further ado, then, Marek ordered one of his crew members to take the center seat, and walked out of the room with stiff, yet proud movements.

The Captain pressed the intercom button and hailed the transporter room. The engineer on duty promptly responded, and Captain Kirk gave the order to ready the transporter for the reception of the alien captain.

"And get an extra security detail down there," the Captain added, quietly. "Just in case he decides to misbehave. More than he already has, that is," he added morosely.

"Yes, Sir," the technician responded, and the Captain then turned back to the view screen, and what Spock assumed to be Marek's First Officer.

"Our transporter room is ready to receive your captain," Captain Kirk informed. "Just let us know when you are ready."

The First Officer did not speak, but nodded faintly. Apparently loquaciousness in junior officers was, indeed, not appreciated.

"Mr. Spock," Captain Kirk said, turning to him, "I want you with me – we'll go meet this Marek in the transporter room. Sulu," – the helmsman turned – "you have the conn."

The Captain rose and beckoned to Spock, who followed briskly. A junior officer immediately sprang up and hurried over to the Science Station. Lieutenant Sulu moved over to the Captain's chair, and another officer took his place at the helm.

"Captain?" Lieutenant Sulu said.

Captain Kirk turned. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"What if they fire on us while our shields are down?"

The Captain frowned. "Then you fire back," he said, before he and Spock moved swiftly into the turbolift. Once inside, Jim's calm, collected façade crumbled. His hands shook, his fingers tense and deadly pale. Spock resisted the urge to place a hand on Jim's shoulder; he did not feel physical contact between them would be helpful at this point. The Captain did not speak, but drew a few deep, labored breaths. His expression was absolutely livid, his eyes full of intense rage, his lips white and pursed. He looked as if he desired nothing better than to plunge his fist into the wall. Instead, he settled for placing a hand on one of the levers and, turning it abruptly, he forced the turbolift to a sudden halt.

"I need a minute," Jim explained unnecessarily. Spock nodded silently.

It was a mark of how much their relationship had changed, that neither of them spoke. Not long ago, Spock would have ventured some words of sympathy, or reassurance. Now, he did not trust himself to say anything that would not simply aggravate the Captain's already tense and dejected mood. Indeed, he was by no means certain that his presence was, or would be, at all useful.

Approximately forty-seven uncomfortably spent seconds later, Jim once more turned the lever, and the turbolift resumed its course. Within another tense minute, the two of them had entered the transporter room, where the technician on duty, as well as the four security officers summoned for the occasion, were looking quite as harassed as Spock currently felt.

"Is the other captain ready?" Jim asked immediately.

"We're still waiting to hear from the Bridge," the technician responded.

Captain Kirk nodded tersely and moved over so that he was standing directly in front of the transporter pad. Spock hesitated for a moment, then walked over and placed himself next to him. Captain Kirk cast him a glance, then turned his eyes to the waiting security officers.

"Be ready when he arrives," he cautioned. "I don't want us to look too hostile, but I want him to get another one over on us even less, so … be ready, but don't be obvious."

Spock turned towards the security officers, who looked confused. They glanced at each other, then looked towards the Captain.

"So you would like us to … _what_ would you like us to do?" one of them asked.

"I would like you to be prepared," he said, somewhat exasperatedly, as if his previous words had not been contradictory and puzzling. "Don't point your phasers at him, but be ready to if you have to."

Spock felt the order to be slightly superfluous, as this was, after all, what the security personnel onboard the Enterprise customarily _did_. They did not normally present a hostile front unless threatened, or ordered to. However, he understood that Jim was not currently in a state particularly calm or collected, and thus allowances would have to be made for his stating the obvious.

Notice came from the Bridge at that moment, and they all hastily turned towards the transporter, where, shortly after, something began to materialize. Captain Kirk's hands, hidden behind his back, were clenched into tight fists. A vein was throbbing forebodingly in his right temple. Spock, sensing trouble, bent close to the Captain and said, quietly,

"I would advise you to keep yourself composed, Captain."

Jim shot him a particularly ugly look, and Spock straightened up immediately. "Thank you, Spock," Jim said, his tone low, but acerbic.

He looked as if he would have said something more, however, the alien captain had now completely materialized, and they refocused their attention on him. The likeness between him and Iarna was striking; they might have been twins but for one, significant difference: where Iarna's eyes, despite his lack of strong emotion, had been open and communicative, Marek's were cold and, it seemed, inaccessible. He wore a long garment probably best described as a coat, which, but for two silver stripes which crossed the chest diagonally, was completely black. A pair of black pants and boot-like shoes were just visible underneath. His jet black hair was pulled back in a sleek ponytail that ran the length of his back. His arms, ending in two, white, long-fingered hands just like Iarna's, were held stiffly at his sides. As he moved forwards, they remained completely still. He held himself in a fashion almost majestic, and he said nothing as he moved off the transporter pad and approached Captain Kirk slowly.

Captain Marek stopped before them, and still he did not speak. He simply looked at them with an expression that might have shown moderate interest, or else simply hostility. Spock found it much more difficult to interpret this alien's expressions than it had been to discern those of the Alaerians. Finally, it was Captain Kirk who spoke.

"I am Captain Kirk," he said stiffly.

"Captain Marek," the alien captain responded.

"We should talk," Captain Kirk said, unclenching one of the fists behind his back and motioning towards the door. Captain Marek gazed in that direction with a look that seemed to express something akin to boredom. He did not make any further response, but simply moved in the direction Captain Kirk indicated. The Captain, Spock, and the security officers followed.

Once in the hall, Captain Kirk took the lead, and the party followed him mutely.

They walked briskly to one of the conference rooms, where Captain Kirk motioned for them all to be seated. Captain Marek did so very grudgingly, it seemed. He had a slight advantage of height over Captain Kirk, and he did not seem at all happy to relinquish said advantage.

Nevertheless, the Captain, Spock and Marek were seated, and the security officers took up stances around the room.

An oppressive silence followed. Captain Kirk and Marek glared at each other.

When approximately one minute had passed by, and neither captain had shown any indication of commencing anything resembling communication, Spock decided to speak.

"It seems prudent to initiate some manner of discussion," he said carefully, and both captains turned their eyes towards him. "It is my understanding that we have assembled for that purpose."

An expression similar to the one Marek had worn the previous time Spock had spoken, darkened the other captain's face. Spock met his gaze tranquilly, determined not to show weakness in front of this personage. It seemed important, though Spock could not precisely pinpoint why.

"You speak freely on this ship." Marek echoed Captain Kirk's words, plainly addressing himself to him, though his eyes remained on Spock.

"That is correct," Captain Kirk answered, his tone very clearly deliberately calm. He eyed the other captain's long garment. "Are you not warm?" he asked in a tone of forced politeness. "Perhaps you should take off your coat."

Marek turned his eyes to Captain Kirk, and a small smile curled his pale lips. "Thank you, Captain Kirk," he said coldly, and, unfastening some buttons which were placed diagonally across the center of the coat, he slipped it off to reveal, underneath, a black shirt, its markings identical to those on the jacket, as well as –

Spock raised both eyebrows as the Captain bent forwards abruptly.

It had been hidden under the coat, but now they could see, hanging from Captain Marek's neck, a jarringly familiar symbol fastened on a long, silver chain.

"The triquetra," Captain Kirk said quietly, frowning.

Marek followed the line of their vision, and turned his eyes down upon his own chest. "My symbol," he said, touching it with two long fingers, "you recognize it."

"Yes," Spock answered. "We have encountered it before."

Marek did not show any sign either of pleasure or displeasure. "You have seen it on your voyages?" he asked.

"We know it from our own planet," Captain Kirk answered curtly, "and we have seen it on others."

A brief flash of annoyance passed across Marek's features. He did not make any response, nor did he make any attempt at clarifying his reaction, but Spock understood plainly enough; Marek had thought his symbol unique, and the news that it was not came as an unpleasant surprise to him.

"Why do you wear this symbol?" Captain Kirk asked.

Marek raised his eyebrows haughtily. "It is a mark of respect," he said, his tone lofty.

Captain Kirk frowned. "Respect for what?" he pressed.

Marek did not reply. He regarded Captain Kirk closely for a while.

"You wished to speak to me, so I suggest we speak," he said finally.

"Is that not what we're doing?" Captain Kirk countered.

Marek's eyes narrowed. "My symbol hardly seems a relevant topic of conversation," he said.

Captain Kirk let out a low sound of displeasure. "Fine," he said, crossly, "then let's talk about why you, unprovoked, destroyed an entire Starbase and attacked my ship."

The corner of Captain Marek's mouth turned up in a cold, sinister smile. At that moment, the door to the conference room opened, and Admiral Bryant stepped in.

"Ah, good," he said, upon seeing them. "I was told you would be on one of the lower levels."

Captain Kirk stood up. "We decided this room was better suited," he said. "Please, sit down."

The Admiral immediately walked over to the table and took a seat by Captain Kirk's side. He then turned to Marek, who was eyeing him with undisguised hostility.

"I am Admiral Bryant," the Admiral said coldly. He did not, as was his custom, offer his hand, but simply sat facing the alien captain, straight-backed, his face uncharacteristically expressionless.

"Captain Marek," the alien captain said, his tone equally chilly.

Admiral Bryant turned to Captain Kirk. "How are we doing?" he asked.

Captain Kirk kept his eyes on Marek as he replied, "I was just demanding an explanation of the other captain for the unwarranted attack on our people and property."

The large form of Admiral Bryant seemed to have subdued Captain Marek's urge to smile, but his eyes still twinkled disturbingly. He made no reply.

"I warn you," Admiral Bryant said sternly, "that if you make no attempt at an explanation, the Federation will have no choice but to subdue you, by force if necessary. You will find our strength in men and weapons is not to be underestimated, nor is our determination to keep our corner of the universe a safe and undisturbed place."

Captain Marek raised his eyebrows once more. "I believe, Admiral, that you would find it … _unfortunate_ … should you decide to open hostilities against us. Our strength is not to be underestimated either. You see only a small number of us here."

Captain Kirk slammed his hand down on the table. "It is not for us to _open hostilities_," he said loudly. "You have already done that. There were more than two thousand people working and living onboard that station, all of whom you killed, and we are not asking you for an explanation, we are _demanding_ one!"

Captain Marek leaned forward in his chair. "If you believe that any show of force from you will elicit a response from me, Captain Kirk, you are sadly mistaken."

"Do you, perhaps, have some suggestion to offer, as to how we might approach the topic in a manner acceptable to you?" Spock said firmly, feeling a strong sense of irritation with this unfathomable creature.

Marek turned to him, still with an expression that seemed to indicate marked disapproval that Spock would dare speak without the explicit permission of his superordinate. Marek did not make any reply, and Spock was rapidly growing weary of this attitude.

"I understand that your relationship with your subordinates is somewhat different than that of our Captain with his," Spock said, feeling an uncomfortable jolt somewhere in the regions of his stomach. "However, it seems prudent that you should acknowledge the fact that I am speaking to you, and perhaps you might even deign to form some kind of response."

Marek stared at him, long and hard. Spock held his gaze unswervingly, keeping his face blank, but determined. Finally, the alien Captain's mouth turned faintly upwards once more.

"You have spirit," he said, as if he were speaking to a disobedient domesticated animal. "I respect that." He turned to Captain Kirk again. Spock felt a disturbing sense of mounting fury within him. "We are driven by spirit, Captain," Marek continued. "We have been stagnant long enough, and now we wish to conquer. In my opinion, if you leave your posts undefended, then their destruction is your own fault." Spock could see the Captain's face growing pale with anger. Marek continued, "As for our attack on your ship: You chose to pursue us. You could not verily expect us to allow you to do so without defending ourselves."

"And you could not possibly expect us to ignore the obliteration of our Starbase, and leave you to any further havoc you might wish to wreak," Spock retorted, as the Captain seemed currently unable to speak; his lips were pursed and chalk-white.

Once more, a cold smile curved Captain Marek's lips, and he finally addressed himself directly to Spock. "I would not expect you to do anything of the sort," he concurred.

"Then what, exactly, do you propose?" Admiral Bryant asked, crossing his arms over his large chest.

Captain Marek motioned with his arms in what seemed to be the equivalent of a human shrug. "I have no proposition, Admiral," he said calmly. "You were the ones that insisted on speaking with me."

The Admiral heaved a frustrated sigh, but seemed, otherwise, to be containing admirably any frustration he might be feeling. Next to Spock, Captain Kirk was, on the other hand, clearly becoming more and more agitated. Spock was not certain it was immediately noticeable to everyone else, but he could see the Captain's hands, which Jim had placed, fists clenched, in his lap, and they were shaking faintly. He still seemed unable to speak, so Spock continued.

"We were hoping you might provide us with an explanation of your actions," he said, as calmly as the Turrentel captain. "Such was our motive for wishing to engage you in conversation. If you prove unwilling to in any way accommodate us, the Admiral's warning stands firm."

At this, Captain Marek rose. "Very well," he said. "It appears, then, that we have nothing further to say to one another."

"You refuse to speak to us."

Spock turned. Captain Kirk had spoken, and his voice was strange, unlike himself. He sat with his eyes fixed, as if mesmerized, on the unremarkable surface of the table.

Captain Marek raised his eyebrows. "I believe I have spoken to you," was all he offered by way of a reply.

Jim placed his hands on the table top. "You have no respect for life," he said. It sounded more like a statement than a question.

"We have a great respect for life," Captain Marek contradicted. "We have a great respect for that life which proves itself capable and deserving of its existence."

Captain Kirk stood up so abruptly that both Admiral Bryant and Captain Marek started. He walked over to the alien captain and, despite Marek's aforementioned height advantage, Captain Kirk seemed, all of a sudden, to rise in stature, making Captain Marek appear extremely small. Admiral Bryant and Spock rose as well, Spock feeling wary of Captain Kirk's temper.

Spock was expecting the Captain to shout, but when he spoke, his voice was quiet and low, and still contained that unfamiliar, vaguely disturbing quality.

"You believe you are deserving of your existence?" he asked, but he didn't wait for Marek to make any reply. "You believe that attacking a target that is unprepared and unarmed is impressive? You think that sneaking up on people, invisible, massacring them, and then running away with your tails between your legs is anything but an expression of the utmost spinelessness?"

Marek's face, though it did not color as would a human's, seemed to become more and more tinged with grey as the Captain spoke, and his eyes shone with poorly contained malice. Captain Kirk continued, ruthlessly, his voice becoming more and more harsh as he spoke.

"Do you think, for one second, that, had you given any warning of your attack, that if the Starbase had been given any time to prepare themselves, you would have succeeded in your destruction? You say you are driven by spirit, and you seem to set quite a lot of store by your pride, but the only thing you've accomplished by your actions, has been to label yourselves as the most determined cowards we have ever had the misfortune of encountering, as well as to make yourselves a target for the Federation's just retribution. So, go ahead, run back to your ship, you pathetic, inhumane wretch."

Captain Marek looked utterly livid. His jaw was quivering furiously, his eyes wide and murderous. Spock could see that his fingers were twitching towards the place on his belt where his weapon must be concealed, but apparently the alien captain realized that initiating violence when he was so outnumbered would be a very poor choice.

"You – presume –"

Captain Kirk cut him off. "Angry? What are you going to do about it? Run away some more?"

"Captain," Admiral Bryant said, in a tone of warning. Captain Kirk ignored him.

"You will pay dearly for you insults, Captain Kirk," Marek said, his voice still relatively calm, though it contained a darker undertone which seemed to solidify his threats.

"I'm quaking in my boots," Captain Kirk replied.

"Captain," Admiral Bryant said once more, and Captain Kirk turned. "I think I should take over."

The Captain shrugged, and moved back, though his eyes moved back to Marek, where they remained fixed with an almost wild energy.

"I apologize for Captain Kirk's harsh words," Admiral Bryant said diplomatically, although his expression did not seem at all invested in the apology, and Spock was quite certain he had seen the Admiral suppressing a smile during Captain Kirk's speech. "We did not bring you here to insult you, although it has become painfully evident that nothing productive is going to come of this conversation."

Captain Marek did not reply. His eyes were fixed on Captain Kirk, whose expression, far from showing any sign of contrition, seemed rather to be demonstrating a clear sense of dark amusement. It was certainly not doing anything to abate the alien captain's anger.

"I think it is best if you return to your ship," Admiral Bryant continued.

Captain Marek seemed only too willing to comply with this request, so he, Admiral Bryant, Captain Kirk, and Spock walked out of the conference room and made their way to the transporter room. Once there, Captain Marek immediately stepped up on the transporter pad.

"This will not soon be forgotten," he said menacingly.

Captain Kirk opened his mouth to speak, but Admiral Bryant held up a hand to stop him. Spock was grateful, for he did not believe any further speech from the Captain's side could possibly do anything to further their cause, nor did Spock believe that he could currently exert any kind of control over his former friend. He was suddenly very grateful for the Admiral's presence, and felt an upsurge of respect for him.

"I think you will find that your offenses will not go unrecorded by us, either," Admiral Bryant stated plainly. "You will do well to leave this area of space, and refrain from coming back until you are prepared to behave in a civilized manner. I do not doubt that you have a decent amount of force behind you, but we are an entire Federation. There are over one hundred and fifty different planets that would be willing and able to come to our aid should we need it."

Though he attempted to mask it, it was evident that this news was impressive to Captain Marek. Admiral Bryant continued.

"We know enough about your vessel and weapons now that you will not be able to catch us off guard again, nor will it be very difficult for us to subdue you should you force us to do so in the future. For the sake of diplomacy, we are going to permit your vessel to leave unscathed –" There was a faint noise of protest from Captain Kirk, but Spock hastily placed a hand on his arm. Jim shook it off angrily. "– _as long as_ you don't attempt any further hostility."

"You are afraid to fight us," Captain Marek said, making an attempt at regaining his former bravado. Admiral Bryant was not impressed.

"We don't want any unnecessary bloodshed," he said honestly. "But if you do return, you can expect us to respond decisively."

There was a long moment in which Captain Marek and Admiral Bryant stared at each other.

"Your Captain has already accused us of cowardice," Captain Marek said, with a note of hesitation.

"Captain Kirk is angry," Admiral Bryant countered. "You have destroyed many people who were close to us, and human beings don't react kindly when you hurt the ones they love. Accepting a peaceful solution is not cowardly. It shows intelligence."

Spock could almost see the alien captain's brain working towards its inevitable conclusion, and the Vulcan was, once more, impressed with the Admiral. He seemed to share the Captain's gift of subtle persuasion.

"Take my offer," he continued calmly. "We will fight if we have to, but we have no desire for battle. We have lost enough lives already."

It was a nice touch, and, whether or not Captain Marek fell for the manipulation, he seemed to gather that the responsibility for drawing back had been transferred from his ship to the Enterprise; he would not be the one running, and this seemed to make the decisive difference.

"Very well," he said finally. "We will return to our home, for now."

"Excellent," Admiral Bryant said.

But it was not without directing towards Captain Kirk one final expression of loathing that the alien Captain was transported back to his own ship. Spock was not certain why he was so deeply disturbed by this one look, but something was telling him that this was very far from the last they would see of these creatures.

Back on the Bridge, the Enterprise crew watched the Turrentel ship disappear in the distance. A request had been made that the alien vessel stay visible as long as it remained within range of the Enterprise, a request that had, to the gratification of all, been readily complied with.

They had not accomplished much with this meeting, and Spock could see that Captain Kirk was bitterly frustrated, still, they had met the aliens, they had spoken to them, and, if nothing else, they had learned something of their customs. Such information would prove highly valuable should they encounter the Turrentels in future. It was, naturally, also information that would be useful to the Federation; they would doubtlessly wish to prepare themselves for any future meeting.

* * *

><p>Later the same day, Captain Kirk, Admiral Bryant and Spock converged once more to discuss the encounter. Doctor McCoy joined them, as did the unfortunate Yana Andreev, who, though Captain Kirk had ordered her kept away while the alien captain was onboard, had insisted on being admitted to their confidence. The request was not an unreasonable one; she had survived a massacre, and her desire to know something of her attackers was natural. Captain Kirk thought that allowing her to participate in some parts of the proceedings might help her to better process the events. However, Spock could see that he was dreading her reaction to the fact that they had been forced to allow the Turrentels to depart unscathed.<p>

"You just let them go!" was the Russian Lieutenant's first exclamation, and Captain Kirk visibly recoiled.

"We had no choice," he mumbled unconvincingly.

"You _had no choice_ but to let a murderous alien race without any sense of decency or mercy just fly away to ruin more people's lives?" Yana cried, her Russian accent becoming more marked as she raised her voice. "How is this possible? How can Starfleet condone such action?"

"We are one vessel," Admiral Bryant replied, stepping forwards. "We are only one vessel, and we had no way of knowing how long we could hold out against their weapons, or whether or not they might have had more, or different, ways of destroying their enemies. We could not justify putting this ship, and its crew, in that kind of danger. We don't seek out hostile situations, Lieutenant Andreev, and we will always try to resolve matters peacefully, if we can."

Yana, who had fixed her attention momentarily on Admiral Bryant, seemed by far more interested in speaking with Captain Kirk, and she immediately turned her eyes towards him again.

"Do we really think the matter has been _resolved_?"

Captain Kirk took a moment to reply, as if to give thought to the matter, but Spock knew he was simply trying to decide whether he should mask his sentiments or say what he truly believed.

"I think …" he said finally, speaking slowly and pronouncing each syllable with deliberation. "I think that the aliens will go home. And then I think they will come back. And I think they will want to continue what they started."

Lieutenant Andreev let out a short breath of air, her expression caught between exasperation and desperation.

"If and when the Turrentels decide to return," Spock said calmly, "we will not permit them to cause similar damage to that of Starbase 15."

Yana turned to him with a frown. "How are you going to do that?" she asked brusquely. "I see that you're a Vulcan, and Vulcans are usually logical, so tell me, _logically_, how are you supposed to guard an entire universe from their evil?"

She was becoming agitated and irrational. Doctor McCoy was looking at her with a concerned expression on his face, probably wary of aggravating her medical condition which, although it was greatly improved, still required some attention. Spock placed his hands behind his back and explained.

"I do not propose that Starfleet has the ability to protect the entire universe. It must initially be stated that there is no reason to believe that the range of these aliens spans anywhere close to _the entire universe_, so Starfleet's inability to defend such a massive amount of space is irrelevant to the present discussion."

Lieutenant Andreev looked at Spock as if she did not quite comprehend what he was saying. He opened his mouth to continue, and clarify, his argument, but Captain Kirk cut him off.

"Commander Spock has a tendency of over-explaining things," he said, his voice a weary monotone. "The actual facts are these: Starfleet has agreed to send starships to different areas of space they believe to be particularly vulnerable. They have also ordered an increased defense for all our functional starbases, as well as a repeat course in emergency protocol for all those that work there."

"In addition to this," Admiral Bryant added, "all Starfleet personnel have been given information on the Turrentels, their vessel, and the proton residue it excretes, so that they will know better what to look out for should the aliens return."

"_When_ they return, you mean," Lieutenant Andreev said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Captain Kirk looked at her. He did not speak, although it was evident that he agreed with her. Spock did as well.

"If and when they return, they will be dealt with," Admiral Bryant said firmly. "We are prepared for them now, and a significant part of their advantage lay in surprise, which is now impossible."

Lieutenant Andreev did not look convinced. Spock did not blame her. He had a feeling, perhaps illogical but nevertheless inescapably there, that the Turrentels would find some way of regaining this apparently lost advantage.

Their meeting did not continue much longer, and each official returned to his work, or, in the case of Yana Andreev, returned to her newly assigned quarters, where she was instructed by Doctor McCoy to spend a considerable amount of every day resting.

As Spock returned to his station, and the Enterprise sped, now unhindered, through space towards the Starbase where his time aboard this vessel was to come to an end, his mind was busy. A conviction had been growing in his mind ever since the Turrentel encounter. It was a frustrating conviction, because he did not habitually make a habit of changing his mind back and forth, nevertheless, it was overshadowing his previous decision, pushing it into the depths of his system and locking it firmly down.

Captain Kirk's life was in danger. Spock did not know precisely why this idea was becoming so utterly inescapable to his mind – after all, by the very nature of its mission, the Enterprise, and consequently its Captain, was but rarely completely safe – however, it seemed to Spock that the character of the Turrentels was such that they could not easily forget an insult such as Captain Kirk's. Something in Captain Marek's eyes had not only wanted, but _promised_ vengeance; Spock was afraid that these aliens were only too capable of taking by surprise even those that were most diligently prepared, and that when they did …

Spock could not leave the Enterprise while Jim's life was in danger. He could not.

He knew his sudden change of heart would not be taken lightly. Spock had wounded the Captain with his decision to leave, he realized that much, and this decision had not ultimately changed; unless his feelings for Jim underwent a dramatic and unlikely transformation, he would still, for the sake of professionalism, feel the need to seek other employment. His time onboard the Enterprise would simply be slightly prolonged.

Something told him that a proposition such as this would not be at all welcome to Captain Kirk. However, the proposal needed to be put to the Captain as soon as possible.

Spock therefore dreaded the end of his shift.

Naturally said conclusion arrived with alarming speed. The Captain's shift ended simultaneously, and, having placed Lieutenant Sulu in command, Captain Kirk stepped onto the turbolift alongside Spock, who was suddenly finding it extraordinarily difficult to open his mouth.

Jim did not look at him, but kept his gaze fixed stoically forwards.

It was not until they stepped off the turbolift that Spock found his voice.

"Captain," he said.

Captain Kirk turned. "Commander?" His tone was cold, aloof.

Spock placed his hands behind his back. "I – need to speak with you."

The Captain frowned. "Is this going to be one of those conversations where I come out feeling like I've gone three rounds with a professional boxer? Because, quite frankly, I've had a long day, and I'm exhausted."

Spock did not attempt to understand the reference to the illogical human need to hit each other for sport.

"I will be brief, Captain," he said curtly. "I simply have something which I would wish to discuss with you. It pertains to the Turrentels."

The Captain seemed to scrutinize him for a moment, then he sighed and motioned for Spock to follow him. They walked quickly to one of the smaller conference rooms.

"What is it?" Captain Kirk said once the door had closed behind them.

"I believe Lieutenant Andreev was correct in her assumption that the Turrentels will return."

"Yes, I believe that too," the Captain said, a little impatiently. "What's your suggestion?"

Spock hesitated. "I do not wish to leave the ship while this matter remains unresolved," he said after a small moment, speaking quickly.

Captain Kirk raised an eyebrow and simply looked at him for a moment. Then he let out an utterly mirthless laugh.

"So now you want to stay?" he asked, disbelievingly.

"I do not wish to –"

"– _leave the ship while this matter remains unresolved_," Jim echoed dully. "Yes, I got that. But we have no way of knowing how long it will take for the Turrentels to attack again. You're due to jump ship in a week. Are you saying you've changed your mind?"

Behind the businesslike tone, Spock thought he could discern a faint, hopeful inflection. It made his heart ache as he shook his head slowly.

"I have not altered my decision to employ myself elsewhere," he said. "I simply wished to offer my services for a little while longer."

The Captain's frown deepened, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "We're going to be just fine here," he said, no trace of familiarity in his tone. "You're free to go."

Spock had expected a reply such as this, but he was determined to plead his case.

"I do not mean to confuse you with conflicting statements, Captain," he said. "I simply cannot leave this ship, on which I have served for such a significant amount of time, as long as I perceive its crew to be in danger."

"We're always in danger," the Captain countered.

"Nevertheless –" Spock began, but Captain Kirk cut him off angrily.

"Now you suddenly have feelings?" he said harshly. "Now you suddenly care about our fates? Since when do such trivial matters pierce your thick, Vulcan skin?"

The restless energy and frustration Spock had been battling for the past weeks instantly bubbled to the surface, and a hot wave of anger coursed from his chest to the tips of his fingers. He did not speak, but apparently, the Captain was not finished. A faint, red color had crept into his cheeks, and his eyes were hard and cold.

"I thought you were too proud to admit that you had any feeling for any of us," he said, his voice growing louder. "I mean, that's what it's about for you, isn't it? Denying any miniscule human feeling you experience?"

Jim took several steps closer to him, and Spock could feel his fingers tingling furiously. There was a dull pounding in his head. He was breathing slowly and deliberately in an attempt to calm himself down, though is heart was hammering frantically.

"You're a coward, Spock," Jim pressed on, cruelly. "You're so damned frightened of acknowledging the fact that you're human. Why is that so hard for you? Why is it so shameful to be human? To feel? Your Vulcan side is _never_ going to be good enough, because it's only _half_ of who you are! You're never going to be able to live up to whatever ridiculous expectations your family might have had of you, because you can never be like them!"

Jim was very close to him now, and there was a rushing in Spock's ears. He knew he should step back, but his fury was rooting him in place.

"I am a Vulcan," he said, his voice low and shaking.

Jim's gaze was hard. "Only half of one."

Within Spock, something seemed to snap. For a moment, base instinct took over for every rational emotion, and with a snarl of fury, he drove Jim forcefully back against the wall.

"Be quiet!" he growled.

Jim let out a slight noise of discomfort upon impact with the wall, and for a moment, he seemed utterly dumbstruck. However, he regained his composure quickly and soon turned piercing eyes on Spock, fierce anger etched in every line of his face.

Spock's rage had evaporated as soon as his logical faculties had caught up with his temper, and he hastily let go of Jim's arms, horrified with himself. Jim, for his part, stepped away from the wall with deliberate slowness and determinedly drew himself up to his full height. Although Spock was a great deal taller than the Captain, the effect of this was still sufficient to make Spock feel inordinately small.

Jim's eyes seemed to burn through Spock's with their intensity. Spock did not think he had ever seen Jim this furious, and he was certain that Jim would either start screaming at the top of his lungs, or punch him in the face. The Captain's arms shook with contained rage, his breathing heavy.

A full minute passed while Jim kept his unrelenting gaze on Spock, then, to Spock's horror and surprise, Jim, without so much as a single syllable, turned on his heel and exited the chamber without a backwards glance.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** So there's that. Chapter 13 is finished (minus editing), so I hope to have it up soon.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Well, I haven't made you wait quite as long this time, so I feel good about that.

Actually, I don't really have much to say today, so without further ado, here's Chapter 13.

(Also, YAY JUDIN! She rocks. Even though I'm totally jealous her story, Burn So Brightly (you should really give it a read), has about fifty times as many reviews as mine. But I'm not complaining. Well, not really.)

* * *

><p>"Ow! Watch it!"<p>

"Stop whining, sit down and hold still."

McCoy shoved Kirk down onto the biobed. Kirk felt his ribs pounding complainingly under his skin. He was sure at least two of them must be broken. A rush of fresh anger sped through him and the urge to get up again was only controlled by Bones' surprisingly strong grip on his shoulder.

"I said sit still," he said crossly. "What the hell did you do to yourself, Jim?"

Kirk didn't answer. He focused on his knees and tried to imagine that they were in some way interesting enough to block out the million unpleasant thoughts which were now careening through his brain like so many crazed horses.

"Jim," McCoy said when an entire minute had passed in this fashion.

Kirk tried to shrug noncommittally, but only ended up wincing as a sharp pain shot through his side. "Ow," he said again, through gritted teeth.

McCoy, who was passing his medical tricorder across Kirk's chest, shook his head exasperatedly. "You have three cracked ribs," he said sourly. "Don't expect me to believe that you have no idea how you got three cracked ribs. I'm a doctor, not an idiot."

"They're not broken?" Kirk said, feeling that this relatively minor injury was a little less than proportionate to the pain he was in.

"They're not broken," Bones echoed in response. "How did this happen?"

So he wasn't going to let that go.

"I … tripped," Kirk said lamely.

"You tripped?" Bones said, raising a disbelieving eyebrow. "Over what, exactly, your own feet?"

"I didn't –" Kirk started, but whatever it was he had planned to say didn't even sound convincing inside his own head, so he opted instead for a frustrated sigh. "I provoked him," he admitted instead, his voice very small.

"By _him_ I'm just going to go ahead and assume you mean Spock," McCoy said, and there was exasperation dripping from every syllable.

Kirk nodded.

"And he did this to you?"

Kirk didn't really know how to answer that question.

"Yes," he said, then, "No. He didn't mean to."

McCoy frowned deeply. "What happened?" he asked, a little reluctantly, as if part of him really would have liked very much not to know.

Kirk sighed. His anger seemed to have been momentarily drained out of him. "We quarreled," he said.

"Shocking," McCoy muttered.

Kirk glared at him.

"We quarreled," he repeated, "and I said some … unnecessary things. He lost his temper and shoved me back against the wall."

Bones raised both eyebrows this time. "That sounds like assault, Jim," he said seriously.

"He didn't mean to," Kirk said inconsequentially.

McCoy shook his head. "If this had been anyone but Spock, I'd have told you to report him."

Kirk felt his shoulders slump tiredly. "If this had been anyone but Spock, I wouldn't have needed that advice."

He rose from the bed and felt some of his anger return; it filled him with a sickeningly warm sensation.

"He drives me insane!" he said suddenly, loudly. "Why can't he just be –"

Kirk cut his sentence short.

"Human?" McCoy suggested knowingly. It wasn't exactly what Kirk had planned on saying, but he realized that it wasn't very far from what he had been thinking.

He still shook his head. "No," he said. "I don't want him to be human. I want him to be what he is, I just wish … Damn it, Bones, I just wish he would talk to me!"

Bones, who had picked up a thick roll of bandages, came over and started administering them to Kirk's torso. "And I wish you would stop getting yourself into these ridiculous situations, which just goes to show that we rarely get what we want in life."

Kirk laughed in spite of himself, and then winced again.

They didn't say anything further as McCoy finished applying the bandages.

"If I thought I could get you to lie still for an hour I'd place you under the osteogenic stimulator," Bones said after a few minutes, "but I'm assuming this bandage will have to do."

"Yes," Kirk said immediately, the idea of staying in Sickbay a very unwelcome one at the moment. He needed to be out doing something – lying still and staring at the ceiling would only give more room for thought. "I'm busy."

"Of course you are," McCoy replied. He looked at Kirk with a searching expression. "What in the hell did you say to him, Jim?" he asked.

Kirk immediately shook his head and, just to have something to do with his hands, reached over and grabbed his shirt. Instead of putting it on, he knotted the material between his fingers and watched the yellow fabric become wrinkled in his hands.

"Jim," McCoy urged, when he didn't receive a reply.

Kirk heaved a sigh and clenched the shirt tightly in his left fist. "I might have … been a little callous about his heritage."

McCoy looked at him for a moment, then he, too, sighed. "When are you two going to grow up?" he said. Kirk frowned. "When are you going to admit that – Jesus, I can't believe I'm saying this – that you … _love_ him?"

Kirk raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Love him?" he sputtered, suddenly very uncomfortable. "Bones, I don't think –"

"Oh, come on, Jim," McCoy growled, pulling a face. "Do you think I'm _blind_? Do you think I can't see how you ogle him every chance you get?"

Kirk opened his mouth to reply, but promptly shut it again. Had he really been _that_ obvious? He was also surprised about how … _embarrassing_ this felt. He and Bones didn't exactly have many secrets between them, and he usually told the Doctor rather _more_ than the other man wanted to hear – still, Kirk was suddenly finding himself rather hot around the collar he had yet to put on.

"I didn't mean to –" he started, but cut himself off. He twisted his shirt between his hands and tried again: "I'm not sure _love_ is –"

"Oh, for crying out loud," Doctor McCoy said exasperatedly. He strode over to Kirk, wrenched the shirt out of his grip, straightened it out with a good shake, and handed it forcefully back to him. "Put the damned thing on before you tear it to pieces." He watched impatiently as Kirk, feeling a little flabbergasted, did as he was told. Bones regarded Kirk with an expression that seemed at once understanding and annoyed as he continued, "For someone who flings the word _love_ around every chance he gets, you sure have trouble recognizing the real thing."

Kirk crossed his arms over his chest and frowned, but he didn't reply.

"I've never really understood what you see in the guy," McCoy continued. "He's always been a bit pointy-eared and, well, _male_, for my tastes, but I suppose he has his …"

He trailed off with a vague hand gesture and a grimace, and Kirk was intensely glad he did. Though it did mean that it was officially time for _him_ to say something, which was for some reason very difficult at the moment. He cleared his throat and let his hands drop to his sides. He considered his feelings, which he knew to be exactly what McCoy made them, and suddenly felt utterly dejected. The words escaped his mouth before he even had time to think about them,

"It doesn't matter how _I_ feel."

The glaring truth was that, despite all his yearning for Spock, he had never once stopped to consider what his emotions actually _were_. The gaping, aching reality of the matter was that he had never in his life felt for anyone the way he felt for Spock.

McCoy was looking at him with a searching gaze. "Have you considered just telling him how you feel?"

Kirk let out a hollow laugh. "Sure. That would go over well."

"What makes you think it wouldn't?"

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "Have you _met_ Spock?"

"Have _you_?"

McCoy was wearing that stubborn expression he sometimes wore when he was sure he was right about something and he was certain that Kirk was wrong. Kirk frowned.

"Spock doesn't think of me that way," he said, trying to sound as breezy as possible, though he knew his attempt at nonchalance was more than a little pathetic.

McCoy sighed again. "Have you ever actually considered the fact that you might be very, very wrong about that?"

Something like a bright well of golden sunlight flooded into Kirk's chest, but it was swiftly and mercilessly quelled by the torrent of rational expectation he had come to loathe. He shook his head tiredly.

"I don't think –" he started, but McCoy cut him off.

"He looks at you the same way you look at him," he said firmly, and, involuntarily, Kirk felt his heart begin to pound just a little faster. "He obviously hates it when you go off on your little … amorous adventures, he would gladly risk his life to save yours, and I believe he values your opinion above anyone else's. You can't tell me you haven't noticed how strange he's been acting since Christopher came onboard. That is to say, strange even for him."

Kirk found himself fiercely considering these arguments, allowing himself, just for a few seconds, to enjoy the feeling that they might not be entirely groundless. For a moment, just breathing calmly, he looked back over their relationship, and for that moment he allowed himself to feel that maybe, just maybe, Bones was right.

There were certain times, certain moments, when Kirk thought he had caught something … indefinable, something _more_, from the Vulcan. And he was confident that, whatever their situation now, Spock had definitely felt friendship for him. Still, the counterarguments, the _well _ of counterarguments, couldn't be ignored. First of all,

"Spock's a Vulcan. I don't think I've ever heard of a Vulcan who … swings that way."

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "I didn't know you'd met all the Vulcans," he said snidely.

Kirk frowned. "You know what I mean, Bones. Vulcans are logical. They don't seem to be very concerned with love and feelings and … I'm sure they don't consider a relationship useful if it can't produce children or … promote … something."

McCoy, his eyebrows still elevated, rolled his eyes. "You're grasping at straws, Jim."

"I'm not," Kirk countered, shaking his head. "Even if Vulcans _do_ find relationships that will never be able to bring the line forwards defensible, there's still the overwhelming argument that Spock considers himself a _logical_ being. If he truly does feel something, then what part of his conduct in this has been logical? Wouldn't the _logical_ thing to do have been simply to tell me what he felt, and get it over with?"

Now McCoy shook his head. "Not if he was afraid it would ruin your friendship," he said. "Why, after all, haven't _you_ simply told _him_?"

Kirk let out his breath in a huff and threw his hands up in the air. "Because I _am_ human! I don't pretend to act logically! Especially not when it comes to relationships," he added morosely.

"You were afraid it would destroy your friendship."

"Yes!"

"And you care about him too much to risk that happening."

"Yes!"

"So you've moped around for months and have, for all intents and purposes, destroyed your friendship."

"Ye – no!" Kirk sent Bones a furious glare, though the harsh truth of the Doctor's statement stung him painfully. He felt his chest deflate pathetically. "I – didn't want that," he said lamely.

"Of course you didn't," McCoy said, "but it's what you've got right now. So" – Bones looked like a man who had arrived at an unfailingly logical conclusion – "I'd say you don't really have anything to lose here."

Kirk looked at Bones and, once more, allowed himself to _consider_. Could he take McCoy's advice? He saw Spock in his mind, he saw the corners of his mouth turn down in his disapproving frown, he saw a proud Vulcan staring down at him with contempt and disgust. He considered the indignation of a violent shove into a wall and as his ribs throbbed beneath his bandages, a new wave of anger rolled through him.

"No," he said finally, and he was surprised to hear how sturdy and determined his voice sounded.

McCoy actually sighed in frustration. "Jim –" he started, but now it was Kirk's turn to cut _him_ off.

"NO, Bones!" he said loudly, taking a step towards the Doctor. "Can you tell me that you're certain that whatever it is you _think_ you've seen couldn't be the workings of your imagination?"

Bones opened his mouth to speak, but Kirk wasn't finished. "Can you tell me that you're absolutely sure you're reading Spock correctly?"

Once more, Bones opened his mouth to speak, but it was with a definite look of hesitation now. Kirk continued, "Are you telling me that your understanding of Vulcans has suddenly increased so dramatically that you're willing to risk my reputation on the assumption that you alone are capable of interpreting Spock's unspoken words accurately?"

Bones merely sighed this time. Then he shrugged calmly. "I can't give you certainty, Jim," he admitted. "I can give you gut feeling. And you know my gut feelings are almost always right."

Frustrated, Kirk shook his head and turned away. He paced the length of the room, turned, and came back again.

"I can't stake everything on your gut feeling, Bones," he said angrily.

Again, McCoy shrugged. "You know that if you let him leave, you'll never forgive yourself."

Kirk let out an irritated snarl and stalked out of the room. He felt his temper boiling near the surface, his anger a dark pit in his stomach. He couldn't believe he had allowed himself to hope, even for a second, that Spock could …

Kirk resisted the urge to hurl his fist into the wall as he walked rapidly down the thankfully empty hallway. He had just turned a corner when the long form of Spock appeared at the other end of the hall. The Vulcan was clearly agitated, his gaze directed towards the ground. Kirk felt his heart jump into his throat as fury mounted to his head. He couldn't meet Spock now. He had to calm down first. So, seeing an available conference room to his right, he hastily dove into it. Spock, intent on his own thoughts, had not seen him. He strode past the door a few seconds later and Kirk held his breath, closing his eyes for some reason, as if that would do anything to help. He heard the Vulcan's footsteps pass the door and disappear off to the left, in the direction of Sickbay.

Good. McCoy could deal with him.

When he was certain that Spock was gone, Kirk sprang out of the room and hurried into a turbolift, wrenching the lever around. As the doors closed, he let out a long, slow breath. His heart was hammering furiously, as if he'd just escaped from something far more serious than a contrite Vulcan. As the turbolift started to move, Kirk sat down on his haunches and put his head in his hands. His bruised chest ached, and the anger that had filled his head couldn't seem to dissipate. It had gathered in his mind like a storm cloud, and the only way to get rid of it seemed now to be a veritable deluge.

He straightened up again, and hurried out as soon as the turbolift doors slid open. A few crew members who were walking down the hall looked at him with worried expressions – he probably looked a little disturbed – but he ignored them and sped on towards his chambers.

Once inside, he locked the door and walked to the middle of the room, where he stood, closing his eyes again and trying to center himself. He was forcibly reminded of Spock's meditation process. Furious, he opened his eyes. At that moment, a beep announced that someone was at the other end of the door. Kirk cast a glance in that direction, but ignored the summons.

A few seconds ticked by. The door sounded again. For the second time, Kirk ignored it.

But, whoever it was wasn't giving up, so after the third beep, Kirk stalked over to the door and ordered it open.

"What?" he said impatiently.

"So, you're in a good mood then," Christopher said, moving past Kirk into the room. "Excellent."

Kirk repressed the urge to scream and settled for a frustrated sigh. "What do you want? I'm busy."

Christopher raised an irreverent eyebrow. "What's going on?"

Kirk's frown deepened. "_What_ do you want?"

"How's your paternal grandmother?"

"What?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought we were just throwing questions back and forth." Christopher grinned winningly, but Kirk was hardly in the mood. Christopher held up his hands in surrender. "Fine," he said, sobering. "I just wanted to see how you were, after the whole Turrentel thing. You seemed a little … dissatisfied."

Kirk let out a heavy breath and moved away from the door, actually thankful for the change of topic. "I do admit that I was hoping those – creatures – would get a little more than a free ticket home."

"So were a lot of people, I think," Christopher said. "But I guess diplomacy wins over violence now. At least the world's come that far."

Kirk looked at him and felt some of his anger crawl back down into his stomach. There was always going to be a part of him that felt intensely guilty every time he looked at the Cadet. And he knew that there was always going to be a part of Christopher that resented Kirk. Christopher had, after all, admitted as much himself. Still, the guilt made the anger manageable, for now.

"You miss your time," Kirk said quietly, his words caught between a question and a statement.

Christopher shrugged, but his eyes darkened. "Yes," he said. "I miss it."

Kirk knew he had started this, but he didn't know how to reply. His own issues, at the moment so prominent in his mind, were not giving him any room to come up with anything remotely helpful as far as Christopher went. He knew another apology from him would do little other than irritate them both. The Cadet moved over to a chair and sat down.

"I miss it," he said again, "but I love it here, too. I didn't think I would, so much."

A faint smile found its way to Kirk's lips. "You really have adjusted admirably. Everyone likes you, you learn exceptionally quickly. I truly think you'll do well here."

Christopher raised an eyebrow. "Stop it, I'm blushing."

Kirk let out a faint laugh.

"So you're ok then?" Christopher asked, seriously.

On the verge of saying yes, Kirk stopped, considered for a moment, and then shook his head. "No," he said honestly. "I don't think I am."

Christopher gave him one of his rare, pensive frowns. He walked up to Kirk and placed an unusually gentle hand on his cheek. Leaning forwards, he touched his lips very softly to Kirk's. It was a kiss much shorter and gentler than Kirk had come to expect from Christopher, and when they pulled apart, both men remained still for several moments, their eyes locked. It was strangely evident that the same resolution was forming in both of their minds.

Finally, the corner of Kirk's mouth turned up in a wistful smile. "We need to stop doing this," he said quietly.

Christopher laughed gently. His eyes turned down for a moment, and when he moved them back to Kirk, he was smiling in a half-amused, half-exasperated sort of way. "We really do," he agreed.

They remained standing as they were. Neither man moved.

"Maybe we don't have to stop right this moment," Kirk suggested. He could really use the release right now.

Christopher's smile widened. "We should definitely stop later," he said. "How about we stop in about an hour?"

Kirk placed a hand on the back of Christopher's neck and considered. "Let's make it two," he said.

"Awesome."

* * *

><p>Not five minutes after Jim had left Sickbay, Spock strode in, looking uncomfortable and, well, if McCoy could ever have described Spock as looking scared, now would be the time. He took one look around him, probably looking for the Captain, and, when he didn't see him, he walked over to McCoy and stopped in front of him with an unusually jerky demeanor.<p>

A mixture of indignation on behalf of Jim's injury and sympathy for the clearly distressed person who stood in front of him caused McCoy to simply raise his eyebrows and wait for the Vulcan to speak.

This took a while.

Finally, Spock, breathing deeply and abandoning his usual roundabout way of speaking, said,

"Have you seen the Captain?"

McCoy nodded his affirmation. "He was just here," he said. "But he left."

He took a moment to try to read the Vulcan. McCoy was wary of digging right into the personal details, but he would be damned if he let Spock go without getting _something_ from him. So, when the Vulcan seemed on the verge of turning around, McCoy cleared his throat pointedly.

"Jim had some cracked ribs when he came in here," he said, looking very closely at Spock to read his reaction.

As it turned out, looking closely was completely unnecessary, as Spock's face turned an unpleasant ashen color and his hands visibly trembled before he hid them swiftly behind his back.

"Cracked …"

"Ribs," McCoy supplied, deciding to get right to the point. "He said you argued."

"I didn't mean –"

"That's what he said," McCoy interrupted sternly. "What I'd like to know is when the hell you two are going to stop acting like idiots and talk to each other like the grown men you are."

A little bit of color returned to Spock's cheeks as he pursed his lips. A hint of anger flickered briefly in his eyes. He didn't make any reply.

"Jim said he provoked you," McCoy said, hoping this would encourage some form of speech.

Spock stayed silent for another moment, then he said, "He spoke of things he does not understand."

McCoy crossed his arms over his chest and raised a disdainful eyebrow. "So you attacked a superior officer?" he asked. "Tell me, Spock, have you completely lost the plot?"

For a moment, Spock simply glared at him. Their conversation seemed to be draining away a lot of his distress and replacing it with his usual affected superiority.

"I am but rarely able to make sense of your speech, Doctor," he said coldly.

But McCoy shook his head disapprovingly. "You're not going to talk your way out of this, Spock," he said firmly. "You broke your Captain's ribs. That's not a light offense."

A tremor passed across the Vulcan's lips, and his eyes flickered shut for a second. Other than that, he managed to remain calm. "I wish to locate the Captain so I might make an apology," he said quietly.

McCoy sighed. This endless back-and-forth was wearing him out. And he wasn't even involved. Well, he wasn't _really_ involved. He kept getting dragged in against his will, and it was exhausting.

"Jim didn't tell me where he was going, but my guess is he went to his quarters," McCoy said. When Spock showed signs of leaving, he added, "I'd wait a little while, if I were you. Give him a chance to cool down."

Spock hesitated. "He was … very angry?"

McCoy shook his head. "And Vulcans are supposed to be logical," he said exasperatedly. "You push someone into a wall and crack his ribs, he's going to be a little upset. So yes, Jim was angry."

Spock didn't say anything to this. He simply took a breath, nodded, and then strode out of Sickbay, leaving McCoy extremely grateful that none of _his_ relationships were this complicated.

* * *

><p>Three hours later found Kirk on his bed, feeling decidedly more relaxed; his anger, still a dark, impenetrable force in his stomach, was momentarily contained. Christopher had left, and Kirk felt a mixed sense of melancholy and relief. He was sorry to lose the physical connection that existed between them, but he had known for a while that it was only a matter of time before their situation would have to change. They didn't have a strong emotional connection; neither of them had wanted anything like that – their bond had been practical, and Kirk would miss it, but he wouldn't regret it, or the decision to break it off.<p>

As he lay there by himself, unable to fall asleep, gazing apathetically up at the ceiling of his quarters, he was determined not to think of Spock. He set his mind instead towards work, considering the morning's routine and debating what and when he would tell the crew about the change of Science Officer. Scotty would be promoted to First Officer, of course. Kirk knew the Scotsman's concern about Spock's leaving would be greater than his pleasure in the promotion, but it would still be a good thing for him. Kirk was happy that Scotty was there. It made the whole business just a little bit easier to handle. At least he knew that his second in command would be someone he trusted and admired. Although –

Kirk sighed and willed his mind away from this topic.

Then his mind willed its way right back to Spock. Frustrated, Kirk sat up and checked the time. It was only nine thirty, and he wasn't due back on the Bridge until eight the next morning. This was going to be a long night.

He rose, put on his green shirt and sat down by his computer. If he couldn't relax enough to sleep, he could at least get some work done. If filling out reports didn't put him to sleep, nothing would.

About half an hour passed by while Kirk worked diligently, bored out of his mind, but somehow his boredom was not assisting his desire to sleep. Then there was a gentle knock on the door.

Kirk sat up straight, as if someone had just slapped him on the back, and his eyes twitched instantly towards the door. It didn't take a lot of work to guess who was on the other side. His heartbeat increased marginally, but he took several calming breaths as he rose, determined not to be emotional. He couldn't help but find this determination somewhat ironic.

Straightening his shirt, Kirk vocally released the lock on the door, which promptly slid open.

Predictably, Spock stood on the other side, but where he would usually just have entered, he now seemed to be waiting for an invitation. The sight of him had caused all of Kirk's anger to bubble to the surface again, and he figured he could let the Vulcan wait for a little bit.

However, a few moments of this only made Kirk feel extremely childish, so he motioned for Spock to enter, and the Vulcan moved forwards, slowly, cautiously.

When the door had slid shut behind him, Spock turned his eyes on Kirk and opened his mouth to speak, his fingers fidgeting nervously. "Captain, I am –"

"Be quiet, Spock," Kirk cut him off, harshly, surprising himself a little. "You will listen to me now."

He was, once more, furious. In a way it was refreshing, because his anger was clouding everything else, making it seem immaterial. The Vulcan looked utterly dejected, but right now, Kirk just didn't care.

"No one," he said, his voice low and fierce, "makes me feel like a victim. _No one_, Spock. Not even you. And I give you fair warning now: If you _ever_ assault me again, I will not only report you, but I will have you permanently removed from any service you should wish to enter. Do I make myself clear?"

Not once in the time Kirk had known Spock, had he ever thought that he would one day have to berate him like this. It felt both liberating and entirely, undeniably wrong. Spock looked like he, for once, could not even shape a proper response. So he simply nodded, a stiff, jerky movement so completely unlike him that Kirk felt a sharp pain in his heart. Spock took several, ragged breaths, and he finally managed to speak.

"I am so sorry," he said simply. He took another, shaky breath. "It was not my intention to –"

"I don't care about your intention," Kirk interrupted him, ignoring his feelings of sympathy and pain, and focusing instead on his anger, a simpler, cleaner emotion. "You've made your apology, now get the _fuck_ out of my quarters."

Spock could not have looked more shocked if Kirk had slapped him across the face. Kirk felt like something was breaking inside him. Spock's face was chalk white, and, for a split-second, Kirk imagined he could see tears forming in the Vulcan's eyes. A second later, he was sure it must just have been wishful thinking, for, whatever it had or hadn't been, it had disappeared. A moment later, Spock turned and walked out.

Kirk immediately hunched down and placed his head in his hands. He lost track of how long he stayed in that position, he only knew that when at long last he got up, his knees were so stiff he could hardly straighten them out.

* * *

><p>Kirk knew he must have fallen asleep at some point when he woke up the next morning in his bed, though his brain was so muddled that for several, long moments, he could not remember how he got there.<p>

He sat up and immediately drew a sharp breath, putting a hand to his bandaged side. His ribs throbbed. As he stood up, it took him several more moments to remember why he felt so thoroughly miserable.

Then his last encounter with Spock came back to him with the force of a photon torpedo.

He groaned loudly.

His anger had all but dissipated overnight, and he was left with a feeling of regret and self-loathing. He actually dreaded seeing Spock on the Bridge and found himself half-hoping that the Vulcan would come up with some excuse not to show up.

Kirk stepped onto the Bridge an hour later, having eaten his breakfast quickly and without much of an appetite. He was not surprised to see Spock sitting in his customary place by the Science Station, though, for the first time, the sight of him filled Kirk with such an intense wave of negative emotions that for a moment he reeled. Luckily, no one was paying him much attention, so he recovered himself quickly and strode over to his chair, where Lieutenant Sulu was now waiting to be relieved.

He turned around as Kirk approached, and, smiling tiredly, he stood up.

"Eventful night?" Kirk asked, in an attempt at focusing his mind on work.

Sulu shook his head. "We saw lots of empty space, Captain," he said, with a faint note of sarcasm. "Lots of space. Very exciting."

Kirk attempted a faint laugh, which sounded weak and insincere. Apparently Sulu was too tired to notice.

"I think we've had enough excitement for a while," Kirk said. "A quiet night doesn't strike me as a bad thing."

"Oh no," Sulu said quickly. "I wasn't complaining." He stopped and considered. "Well, I wasn't _really_ complaining," he added, with a small wink.

"Don't jinx it," said Chekov with a yawn. He had also had the night shift, and looked more than a little tired.

"Get some rest, both of you," Kirk said as he sat down.

Sulu and Chekov both nodded, and looked very grateful as they shortly after entered the turbolift side by side. Kirk watched them, unsure at first as to why the empty feeling inside him seemed to have intensified all of a sudden. Then he turned his head and looked at Spock. The Vulcan was intent on his work, and looked, for all intents and purposes, just like he always did, except that two months ago, he would have turned and given Kirk some sign of acknowledgement, maybe even a smile.

A dull pain, unrelated to his injured ribs, built up inside Kirk's chest. His feeling of self-loathing intensified, his frustration with the way he had handled himself yesterday for a moment so overpowering that it was all he could do not to get up and rip his chair apart.

This was all his fault. All this tension, all this awkwardness, it was _his_ doing. McCoy could believe what he would, but Kirk fully believed that all of Spock's discomfort, all of his strange behavior came from a perception of Kirk's feelings. He had clearly picked up on Kirk's preference, and it made him so uncomfortable that he no longer knew how to act around Kirk. Spock disapproved of him, and didn't know how to tell him.

Kirk felt empty, hollow, like someone had dug down into his throat and ripped out some vital part of him. He looked at Spock again. He rose from his chair, and, automatically, walked over to him. Spock didn't make any sign that he heard Kirk's approach; he simply remained as he was, his focus on his station, his back turned.

Kirk stopped directly behind him, and found that he didn't know what to say. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Over at the Communications station, Uhura sent them a quick glance, but when her eyes met Kirk's, she quickly turned back to her work.

"Any significant changes?" Kirk said finally.

Spock didn't move. "None, Captain," he said, his voice a perfect mask of indifference.

"Have you been here long?" Kirk continued.

Still, the Vulcan made no movement. "Two hours and twelve minutes, Captain," he replied flatly.

Kirk, casting around desperately for conversation starters, said, "I thought your shift started at eight?"

Spock finally turned and looked at him with eyes as lifeless as Kirk had ever seen them. "I was early, Captain," he said.

Kirk, at a loss for anything else to do or say, simply nodded, and, feeling defeated, walked back to his chair. The anger of which sleep seemed to have rid him now rose within him once more, dark and foreboding. His head started throbbing.

He couldn't continue like this. He felt winded, as if he had just run a mile.

The rest of his shift passed in a slow, frustrated haze. Their encounter with the Turrentels had taken them off course, and they still had a week to go until they reached Starbase 11. They didn't predict any interference or trouble between here and there, so they were expecting a slow week.

Kirk went straight down to the mess hall after his shift, thinking he would eat dinner and retreat to his room. He didn't trust himself around people right now.

It was about five o'clock when the doors to Kirk's quarters shut behind him.

It was approximately one minute past five when the doors slid open again.

Kirk had only just had time to change into his green shirt when he turned abruptly and found himself face to face with Spock. For a moment, he didn't know whether anger or surprise were the dominant emotion pumping through him. He wished so sincerely he could just let it all _go_. But that didn't seem to be an option.

Spock was looking at him with a very strange expression, like he didn't know what he was doing there. Fifteen seconds that felt like forever passed silently. Then Kirk, his frustration once more mounting, let out an exasperated sigh.

"What is it, Spock?" he said impatiently.

The Vulcan drew a shaky breath. "I wished to speak with you," he answered.

Kirk crossed his arms over his chest. "I tried to speak to you on the Bridge – you didn't seem all that interested then."

Spock looked down. "I did not feel that … it seemed the Bridge was not the proper place for …"

"What?" Kirk said sharply. "A confrontation? I wasn't confronting you. I was making one, last attempt at being your friend, Spock. I was just trying to talk to you. We used to be able to do that, remember?" He searched Spock's face for some sign of recognition, of regret, of anything, and there was definitely something there, but the Vulcan seemed to be using every last grain of his self-control to block it out.

Finally, unable to contain his frustration any longer, Kirk cried, "I don't understand what's happened to us! I thought you were my friend!" There was an edge of desperation in his voice now, one he could no longer keep back. "I trusted you, above anyone else, strange as that may seem to you. And I thought you trusted me, I even thought …"

He trailed off, wary, still, of going too far. Spock's face, finally rid of its apathetic mask, showed surprise and badly concealed pain. But Kirk felt like they had been through this too many times before. This was the final scene. Spock made a pitiable attempt at his usual detached tone as he said,

"I apologize, Captain, if I have –"

"_If_ you have?" Kirk interrupted him. "_If_ you have …_ what_, Spock? Refused my friendship? Offended me? Assaulted me? Threatened to leave my ship?" He took a step closer to the Vulcan, who didn't move. "I don't understand you, Spock! I thought I did, at least a little, but you persist in shutting me out. Is it so important to you to maintain your Vulcan disinterest that you will allow yourself to let go of those that care about you? What does it all mean, if you don't have anyone who knows you, who …"

Kirk trailed off. He was entering dangerous waters again, and Spock was looking at him with an expression that seemed at once fearful and angry.

"I do not expect you to understand Vulcan customs," he said coldly.

"Don't give me that," Kirk spat instantly.

"Then what shall I give you?" Spock snapped back.

_You!_ Kirk thought bitterly. All he wanted was Spock. All he had wanted was the Vulcan's friendship, his love … A fresh wave of anger, frustration at what he knew he could never have, rolled through him, and he let out a sharp snarl. Spock was looking at him as if he'd never seen him before. Kirk felt a sharp pang of embarrassment which quickly spread out to intermingle with all his other sensations; he was starting to feel dizzy. His ribs ached.

But his fingers were tingling for some reason.

Several moments of silence ensued. Then Spock stepped forwards. They were suddenly very close, and Kirk felt his heart start to hammer in his chest.

_Stop it!_ he thought furiously.

"Jim," Spock said then, so quietly it was barely audible.

A set of highly illogical reactions followed.

Only a few days ago, the sound of his first name, spoken by the Vulcan for the first time in so many months, would have made Kirk's heart leap with joy. Even now, in the midst of everything, Kirk felt something warm flow into the pit of his stomach. But it was overshadowed, drowned, by every negative feeling, every last bit of bile that now seemed to be fighting its way to the surface. He felt furious, uncontrollably furious, and he cut Spock off rudely as the Vulcan opened his mouth once more to speak.

"No," he said harshly. "You don't get to call me that."

Spock faltered, his hands trembled.

"Only my friends call me Jim," Kirk pressed on, feeling a kind of cruel satisfaction in Spock's obvious distress, his anger and frustration blinding him, forcing every negative thought from his mouth before he had the chance to check himself. "You are _not_ my friend. You gave up that privilege."

Spock went deadly pale.

"I – can't …" he stuttered weakly.

Kirk's heart was pounding ferociously in his ears, drowning out his brain, which, though it was screaming rational thought at the top of its metaphorical lungs, didn't stand a chance of being heard.

"I'm going to tell you this now: If you don't, once and for all, tell me what the _hell_ is wrong with you, if you actually get up and leave, if you _abandon_ this ship, and _me_, I don't _ever_ want to see you again. Do you understand me?"

Spock made no response. His hands were still trembling. His breathing was shallow and uneven. Kirk had never seen him like this, and, behind the loud pumping of angered blood that was continuing to fill his head, a thread of sympathy grew. Simultaneously, he was terrified that the Vulcan's reply would be, as Kirk feared, that it was _his_, _Kirk's_, fault that he had to leave, that it was _Kirk's_ illogical infatuation with him that was making him so uncomfortable that he had no other choice but to get out of there as quickly as possible. Kirk couldn't keep this cold front up, he knew it. Nevertheless, he had started this, and he was too stubborn not to finish it. So, with a shaky voice, he said,

"If you leave, don't you ever think about coming back."

There was a long moment of tense, oppressive silence in which Kirk's anger drained away from him as if he had put it through a sieve. He finally felt like he had said his part, and his shoulders slumped tiredly. He felt empty. His eyes met Spock's, in which there was a kind of fierce desperation. The Vulcan's eyes widened slightly, as in surprise, or fear.

"Please, Spock," Kirk said then, his voice softer, almost pleading. "Just tell me what –"

He didn't have time to finish his sentence. He didn't even have time to register any movement before a cold, strong hand had been placed firmly against his cheek and a pair of Vulcan lips had descended on his own.

For a moment he was so completely startled that he didn't make the smallest move. It was only Spock pulling away that finally kicked some sense into his head; abandoning any other thought, he grabbed a firm hold of Spock's face and forced their lips back together.

This time it was Spock who hesitated, as if this were not the reaction he had been expecting, then, with a sigh that seemed to contain months' worth of longing, he wrapped his arms around Kirk and pulled him close.

A frenzied mix of intense satisfaction and bewilderment ran through Kirk's system like a rampant, wild animal. A sharp jab of pain as his and Spock's bodies met reminded him forcefully of his injury; he ignored it.

But his breath had caught in his throat, and Spock had noticed. The Vulcan pulled back, his face once more a mask of uncertainty and pain, his hand still lingering on Kirk's cheek. Kirk kept a firm hold of his arms, refusing to let him go.

"I'm fine," he said urgently.

Spock's eyes moved down Kirk's torso to the ribs he had unwittingly injured. His hands twitched uncomfortably.

"I hurt you," he said, his voice so small that Kirk felt the urge to wrap it in his own and comfort it. He hastily shook his head.

"No," he said breathlessly.

But Spock placed a hand to Kirk's side.

"Yes," he countered quietly. "I hurt you."

Kirk shook his head again. "Fine," he said. He was feeling dizzy, as if someone had just spun him rapidly around and then pointed him at Spock. "You hurt me." Spock's eyes were clear and sad. "I think I hurt you too, though," Kirk said.

Spock didn't make any definite sign of affirmation, but he didn't have to. For once, he was not even trying to hide his emotions, and he looked just like Kirk felt. There was pain, confusion, fear … Kirk didn't know what to think. His chest and throat were hurting, like he had just been screaming at the top of his lungs. He heard the next words come out of his mouth as if someone else had spoken them.

"How did we get here, Spock?"

Spock's breathing was ragged. He shook his head a fraction of an inch, but didn't answer. The hand on Kirk's cheek faltered, and fell.

For one, horrible moment, Kirk was certain that this was it. He could see Spock retreating into himself as he lowered his eyes, could see that their time of estrangement couldn't be easily bypassed.

But Kirk wasn't ready to let this particular moment lie.

Feeling a little reckless, he reached out and grabbed Spock's hand. The Vulcan's eyes snapped up to meet his, and they were filled with insecurity. The hand twitched, as if it meant to make a bid for freedom, but Kirk held onto it firmly.

"We've had some hard months," he said quietly. "We've hurt each other. I … didn't see you. I didn't think you could –"

Kirk breathed. He could feel Spock's elevated pulse in the palm of his hand. Kirk raised the hand a little, and switched his grip so that their fingers were interlocked. There was an intake of breath from Spock. His pulse was quickening. He looked nervous.

"Jim …" he said. "I'm not certain –"

"Who's certain?" Kirk interrupted. He moved his hand so that he was gripping Spock's wrist. "Why did you come here today?"

Spock frowned.

"Why did you come here today?" Kirk pressed. "You were going to leave. You were going to give up on whatever it was we shared between us. But you couldn't. Could you? Because you feel something more, something important. Am I right?" Kirk searched Spock's face with a mounting desperation. "Tell me I'm right Spock! You just kissed me! What did that mean to you?"

Spock twisted his hand around and grabbed Kirk's. He moved closer once more so that they were suddenly a mere three inches apart. When Spock finally spoke, his voice was low, and sounded almost hoarse.

"I do not wish to leave you."

Kirk placed his free hand against Spock's cheek. "Then don't. For God's sake, don't."

For three seconds more, Spock looked at him, his eyes seemed to be searching for something. Then he leaned in and pressed his lips to Kirk's.

A well of the brightest sunshine seemed to flow into Kirk's stomach and spread out to every inch of his body. His heart pounded vigorously as he wrapped an arm around Spock's waist and pulled their bodies closer, every part of the Vulcan's torso aligned with his, a closeness he had been dreaming of for years. Part of him was convinced that this _was_ a dream, and that he would wake up at any moment, sick with longing.

But he didn't wake up.

And the kiss … Kirk was used to a violence of passion that allowed little room for tenderness or romance. This kiss was soft, and slow, like they were both trying it for the first time, only Spock seemed to know exactly how to make his lips move so that they met Kirk's in precisely the right way.

The first kiss was always uncomfortable, full of insecurity and hesitation; but it seemed as if all of their uncertainty had been spent before this moment, so that, instead of the awkwardness that Kirk had come to expect from these situations, he was met, instead, with something that felt so undeniably right that the only word that came to mind was _compatible_.

_Yes, yes, yes_ …

His head was spinning. Spock's hands were moving down towards his hips, and Kirk grasped Spock's face with both hands, fearful, in the midst of his intense exhilaration, that Spock would pull back again. For some reason, the thought seemed utterly catastrophic to him.

But Spock didn't pull back. Instead, he deepened the kiss, and Kirk moved one hand down the Vulcan's chest, down to his side, where he could feel Spock's heart beating, its pace fast and erratic. The feeling of it was intense and fascinating.

Spock had wrapped both arms around Kirk, so that his hands rested strongly against Kirk's back. The kiss slowed. Kirk kept his eyes closed as he brushed his lips softly and tentatively against Spock's.

One of Spock's hands moved up to rest against Kirk's jawbone. For a moment, Kirk simply reveled in the touch. Then he moved his own hand and placed it lightly on top of Spock's, running his fingers down to Spock's wrist, then up again.

A tingling sensation ran from his fingertips down to his palms. His hands suddenly felt very hot, especially against Spock's perpetually cool skin. He felt Spock's heartbeat quicken – the skin on the Vulcan's hand seemed almost to be vibrating.

Spock stopped, his eyes closed, as Kirk ran his fingers slowly up and down the Vulcan's hand. Spock breathed heavily. Lifting his hand from Kirk's cheek, he placed his fingertips against Kirk's. Spock opened his eyes and for a long moment they simply stood there, eyes locked, fingers gently touching.

Kirk had never experienced anything like this. The slowness, the sensuousness, was … amazing. And all the while, Kirk could hardly believe what was happening. He was so astonished that, all along, Bones had been right. His eyes were on Spock and he thought he might just explode from the intensity of his scattered emotions.

It was utter confusion and elation in one, bewildering package. But it was good. It felt good. Better than … anything he could compare it to.

Kirk didn't register any movement, but suddenly the backs of his legs butted against the edge of something. He wanted to turn and see what it was, but somehow he seemed utterly incapable of tearing his eyes away from Spock's. He felt mesmerized. His brain wasn't working. But then,

_Oh. Right._

His bed.

He suddenly felt inexplicably and uncharacteristically nervous.

But he was good at this part. He was _very_ good at this part. The emotions and sharing and relationships … not so much. But _this_ …

This he could do.

A momentary lapse in confidence. Everyone had them. Even James T. Kirk. His gaze was piercing as he now moved his eyes down Spock's torso, impatient, suddenly, to see beyond the uniform.

He moved his hands slowly down to the hem of Spock's uniform shirt. Some part of him was still afraid that Spock might resist this, that he might consider this last step one step too far.

A few seconds later, however, and without any signs of discomfort or unwillingness, Spock's shirt and undershirt had both been pulled unceremoniously over his head and Kirk allowed himself a moment to stare at Spock's lean, pale torso. But Spock soon closed the small distance between them, and his mouth, open and surprisingly hot, closed on Kirk's. Kirk, his heart pounding loudly in his ears, slid his tongue between the Vulcan's lips as Spock's fingers set to work on Kirk's shirt, finding the divide and urgently tearing the two pieces apart. Kirk allowed his arms to slide out of the sleeves, and the garment fell to the floor on his left. Spock's hands were on either side of Kirk's face, and Kirk shot his hands up to grasp Spock's naked shoulders. Spock's hands felt strong and intense against Kirk's cheeks, his kiss was forceful and determined where it had been soft and tentative only a minute ago.

Kirk was used to taking the lead in these situations, but as Spock's hands moved down to the lining of Kirk's pants and swiftly undid them, Kirk suddenly felt very keenly that he was the one being led, controlled, even. It was exhilarating and jarring at the same time. But he wouldn't allow himself to think too much. Not now.

There was fire in Spock's eyes. He drove Kirk backwards, onto the bed. Instantly, gracefully, Spock was over him, hands pinning him down, mouth kissing his fiercely. Kirk moved his hands down to grasp Spock's hips with urgent fingers. The Vulcan still cupped Kirk's face with his hands, still cold, though they seemed almost to be emanating some kind of energy, making Kirk's face tingle pleasantly.

Suddenly Spock pulled back, and Kirk opened his eyes to find the Vulcan gazing at him with a searching expression, as if he were voicing a request for permission. Kirk thought he understood, and he became abruptly nervous once more. He had often thought of what a meld with Spock would be like, had seen the Vulcan do it on multiple occasions, but what would Spock find when he entered Kirk's mind? Would he approve of what he saw? They were so different …

But Kirk had promised himself not to think so much, so he placed a hand lightly on Spock's cheek and, lifting himself slightly from the bed, he placed a soft kiss on Spock's lips.

For a moment, Spock closed his eyes and simply breathed. Perhaps he, like Kirk, was anxious about this first meld. Then he moved his right hand and placed it lightly on Kirk's face, his fingers finding the points he needed with practiced skill.

Kirk's heartbeat increased. So did Spock's.

And then suddenly everything changed.

The world seemed to dissolve as Spock's mind penetrated deeply into Kirk's consciousness, twisting their thoughts, their ideas, their feelings, together like a tightly coiled rope, something that could hold immense weight without breaking, without straining, without losing itself. It was a mess of colors and feelings, and Kirk didn't know where he ended and where Spock began. All he knew was that he could feel Spock, all of him, inside him, all of the Vulcan's warmth, all his love, all the emotion and insecurity he hid so well from the world, was becoming his, Kirk's, his own, to witness and share. It was painful and wonderful and confusing and exhilarating at the same time.

They moved together, thought together, felt together. It was intense, and lasted for what seemed like hours. It was pure ecstasy, again and again. And it wasn't just his own exhilaration Kirk was feeling. The meld connected them, strung them together, so that Kirk felt Spock's satisfaction almost as intensely as his own.

Kirk had no idea of how long they continued. He only knew that when they finally broke apart and lay back on the small bed, hands interlocked and trembling, he felt, in the most positive sense of the word, drained. It was as if a whole mess of negative energy had just evaporated and drifted off into space somewhere. Kirk's skin was moist with sweat, and he vaguely imagined that his stress and anxiety were simply flowing out of him, leaving him with a feeling of the most complete contentment he had ever experienced in his life.

* * *

><p>Their shirts were slung over a chair by the table, their shoes strewn haphazardly across the floor. Kirk sat with his back to Spock's cool, bare torso, his skin, somehow sensitive beyond belief after the meld, tingling with the touch. Spock's arms were wrapped around him, protective, affectionate, possessive. Spock's mouth was at his throat, kissing the hollow behind his ear.<p>

"So," Kirk said softly, tilting his head back casually. "Are we … together now?"

Spock's eyes shone, and he moved one hand to touch Kirk's cheek. "Now, Jim," he said, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth, "you belong to me."

Kirk let out a small, breezy laugh.

"I think who belongs to whom is open for discussion," he said quietly. The Vulcan quirked an eyebrow in response, and Kirk grinned again.

The moment was so heartbreakingly perfect. He felt, illogically, like he could stay in it forever. Spock caressed Kirk's neck, moved his hand down to his collarbone, swept strong fingers across his abdomen. Spock took Kirk's hand in his, and held them together.

Kirk twisted around, cupped Spock's cheek with his hand, and touched his lips, softly, to the Vulcan's.

The comm. unit sang through the silence, as if it had been waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt. Uhura's voice rang through the room.

"Bridge to Captain Kirk!"

Kirk heaved a small sigh of exasperation and extricated himself from Spock, who ran two tantalizing fingers down his arm as he moved away. Kirk turned back to him with a grin, and pressed the button with a pleased smile still lingering on his face.

"Kirk here."

"Lieutenant Uhura here, Sir. You are needed on the Bridge." Kirk rolled his eyes slightly. It had been too much to hope for that he would actually have this particular night to himself. His luck was never that good. "Mr. Spock is requested to come to the Bridge as well," Uhura continued. "I have tried calling his quarters, Sir, but he does not respond. Do you know where he is?"

Kirk cast a glance at Spock. The Vulcan's eyes twinkled as he raised his eyebrow.

"I think I can manage to locate him," Kirk said. "I'll be up in five minutes. Kirk out."

He switched the comm. unit off. Spock was up and standing right in front of him as he turned around. His blue science shirt was slung over his arm. Kirk ran his eyes one last time over the Vulcan's long, lean frame.

"We had better get dressed," he said, the enthusiasm for that particular prospect very limited.

Again, Spock quirked an eyebrow, that small, tantalizing smile still lingering at the corner of his mouth. "I believe arriving on the Bridge as we are might engender some remarks," he said, with an unmistakable trace of humor.

Kirk laughed gently. "If I had known all you needed to bring out your inner comedian was some … _gratification_, I'd have arranged this a long time ago," he teased.

Instantly, Spock's face took on that characteristic, haughty look he often wore when he wished to assert his Vulcan superiority. "I do not make a habit of responding to such crude remarks," he stated superciliously.

Kirk laughed, shook his head and gave Spock a light slap on the shoulder. The Vulcan raised his eyebrow, looking slightly scandalized.

"Come on, Spock," Kirk said grinningly. "Get dressed."

Spock rubbed his shoulder absentmindedly, then he pulled his uniform shirt on. Kirk found one of his yellow shirts and did the same.

They moved out of the room, where, due no doubt to the lateness of the hour, the corridors seemed all but deserted. Kirk had checked the time before they left his quarters; it was just after midnight.

As they walked down the hall, Kirk couldn't keep his eyes off Spock. They walked close together, as if they both felt that they had been apart quite enough. Kirk's hands were tingling, and, though Spock kept his gaze professionally straight ahead, his eyes were smiling. The sight of them made Kirk feel slightly giddy.

They turned into an empty turbolift. To Kirk's surprise, the moment the doors slid shut, Spock took Kirk's hand in his, and, pulling him close, kissed him once more. Kirk's heart seemed to be vibrating rather than beating when they pulled apart a few instants later, the exhilaration of the unexpected embrace pumping loudly through his system. He was breathing rather heavily as, his eyes on Spock, who was still tantalizingly close to him, he turned the turbolift lever and said,

"Bridge."

Spock's skin was just slightly flushed, and Kirk found himself unable to stop grinning. They both straightened themselves out before the turbolift doors opened on the Control Center, but Kirk was still very keenly aware that he must look as if he had just discovered the meaning of life.

They stepped out onto the Bridge, and Spock immediately strode over to his station. Uhura came over to Kirk.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Sir," she said, "but I thought you would want to see this."

She pointed towards the view screen, where Kirk now noticed, far away, what appeared to be a large metal object of an undetermined nature – possibly the remains of a ship, or a satellite. Kirk frowned and turned to Spock.

"Are you getting any readings on the object?"

"One moment, Captain," Spock replied, already bent over his scanner. He pressed some buttons and checked for the results. "Standard metal alloy," he said after a few seconds. "No life readings, no energy output. My scanner is not able to pick up on any markings or specifics by which the fragment might be categorized."

"Let's move closer," Kirk ordered, then he turned back to Spock. "Could this be the remains of a space craft?"

Spock nodded. "I believe that is highly likely, Captain."

"Magnify ten times," Kirk said.

The fragment was blown up to a larger size, and they could see that what had probably once been a sleek piece of metal, much like the outer hull of their own vessel, was now matted and dull, coated with the wear and tear of space and the explosion that had no doubt destroyed whatever it was the fragment had once belonged to. Parts of it were extremely bulked and bent. The fragment was large, probably about one quarter the size of the Enterprise's saucer section. In fact, despite its worn and misshapen state the piece of debris did bear a striking resemblance to a part of one of the Federation's starships.

"Any conjectures on how it was destroyed?" Kirk asked the Bridge at large.

"Purely speculative, Captain," Spock responded, looking at the view screen. "The size of the fragment seems to suggest a large vessel, which in turn suggests that whatever destroyed it must have had some significant power at its disposal."

Kirk frowned. "The destruction wasn't recent," he said, half-stating, half-asking. "The metal is so worn."

They had come closer now, and Spock was once more bent over his scanner, interpreting new readings. "The fragment is aged, yes," he confirmed. "The devastation of the vessel it presumably belonged to must, I believe, have happened more than twenty years ago. It must be noted that this estimation is very imprecise."

"It could be older," Kirk responded.

"Yes."

Kirk's frown deepened as he regarded the floating piece of debris, a strange feeling growing in his stomach, a feeling he couldn't really define; he only knew that he suddenly felt inexplicably cold. Not really apprehensive, just … uneasy, for some reason.

The Enterprise continued to move forwards, a little cautiously, in case anything unexpected should turn up, as such things often did when this particular ship and crew were involved. Spock remained bent over his scanner, monitoring his readings closely. Kirk, suddenly restless, moved over to him and leaned over to glance at the numbers and diagrams that were making their way across his screen.

Spock turned his head. Instead of the coldness and irritation Kirk had become all-too accustomed to seeing in his eyes during the past few months, the Vulcan now once more wore that open and slightly smiling look he had so often used to wear before they had somehow … fallen out. Kirk resisted the urge to touch him.

They remained side by side as the Enterprise drew close to the debris. Spock's scanner worked continuously, searching for some way to identify the piece of wreckage, for so they became more and more convinced it must be.

They were only a few kilometers away when Kirk ordered the Enterprise to come to a full stop. For a few, quiet minutes, Spock worked his scanner diligently.

"The metal is badly damaged and its outer composition has been affected by at least two decades in space," he said finally, "however, going beneath the external layer, the fragment appears to be of precisely the same makeup as the outer hull of the Enterprise, or, for that matter, of any Starfleet issue vessel. The size and shape are also compatible with that of our Starships, although, once more, the damage is so extensive that it is impossible to be entirely certain."

Kirk kept his eyes on the floating piece of metal. "So, in all probability, this is what remains of one of our older vessels."

"I believe it is likely," Spock concurred.

Kirk thought for a moment. "We need to bring this to the attention of Starfleet," he said, aloud, though more to himself than anything else. "If it is one of our vessels, they're going to want to figure out which one it is and how it was destroyed." The tractor beam was out of the question, as it could take them months, and even years, to reach their destination if they were to travel the entire distance at sub-warp speeds. But maybe they could somehow get the metal fragment onboard? Kirk turned to his crew.

"Do you think we could cut it into parts, so that we could at least bring a sample of it back with us?"

"That would require very precise cutting, Captain," Spock replied. "I conjecture it would be difficult to make any partition without destroying the wreckage."

"But would a smaller piece be sufficient for identification?"

"Perhaps."

"We could modulate the Enterprise's phasers so that they could perform a cutting function, couldn't we?" Kirk suggested.

"I think this is a job for Mr. Scott," Chekov said, turning in his seat.

"Scotty has the night off," Kirk said, shaking his head and feeling bad for the honest Scotsman who had been in desperate need of a good night's sleep. "Can we manage this ourselves?"

"I believe I could be of some assistance," Spock offered, stepping forwards.

After a moment of hesitation, Chekov also spoke up. "I think I can also help."

"Excellent," Kirk said, satisfied. "Let's get to it."

Spock and Chekov left the Bridge, and an industrious hour followed. Kirk stayed in the Control Center, monitoring the situation, or that is to say, requesting updates every once in a while, but otherwise simply staring into space and thinking about Spock.

A lot of things were, understandably, going through his head right now.

First of all, Kirk was wondering whether Spock would now decide to remain on the ship. It seemed logical … didn't it? Hadn't the Vulcan said that he didn't wish to leave Kirk? Or was Kirk arrogant to assume that all Spock's desire to remove himself from the Enterprise stemmed from his apparently unrequited feelings for Kirk? Couldn't the Vulcan have other reasons?

The thought of Spock leaving, now, shot through Kirk like a sharp arrow. The happy little bubble that had momentarily encased his heart seemed to burst as the ugly truth washed over him:

Spock might still leave.

Kirk didn't know what he would do if Spock left. He couldn't. Not now. Not now that they _finally_ …

He let out a long, slow breath, and put his now rather tired head in his hands.

A small, warm hand was placed amicably on his shoulder. "I'm sure they will be finished shortly, Captain," Uhura said smilingly.

"What?" Kirk said, for a moment confused, then, "Oh. Yes, I'm sure they're doing their best." He flashed her a smile. "I guess I'm more exhausted than I thought. Long day."

Uhura looked at him searchingly for a moment. She seemed to consider something.

"Was Mr. Spock with you when I hailed your quarters?" she asked unexpectedly, her voice low, and Kirk almost started.

He managed to reel himself in with some difficulty. "Yes," he said truthfully. "We were having a discussion pertaining to some official matters."

This lie would do for now.

Uhura, for her part, nodded, but she bent a little closer, and when next she spoke, it was very quietly. "Forgive me, Sir," she said. "But I was under the impression that you and Mr. Spock might have had some kind of a disagreement."

Kirk was initially disposed to resent this interfering in his personal relationships, but Uhura's manner was so open and sincerely concerned that he couldn't really feel angry.

"I don't mean to pry, Sir," she said kindly. "It just seems that your friendship means a lot to the both of you. I was simply hoping that you had made amends, or else that I had been mistaken in thinking that you had ever fallen out."

Kirk looked at her for a moment. Uhura looked like she was afraid she had taken her questioning too far, but then Kirk gave her a small smile.

"We had less of a disagreement and more of a series of misunderstandings," he admitted. "But the matter is now resolved."

Uhura smiled in earnest then, and, putting soft pressure on his shoulder once more, turned back to her own station without another word. Kirk turned and watched her sit down, then he focused his attention back on the view screen.

It wasn't much later that Spock and Chekov reappeared on the Bridge. The sight of the former made Kirk's stomach do a weird little flip. He kept his face professionally blank with some difficulty.

"Are we ready?" he asked.

"Yes, Captain," Chekov responded. "We have made a few small adjustments to the phasers, and we should be able to cut the debris precisely enough now to get a piece to take with us. I think."

Kirk raised his eyebrows and looked at Spock.

"Ensign Chekov means that with the wreckage in its present, fragile state, it is impossible to entirely ensure that an application of intense energy will not simply cause it to disintegrate. We have, however, done our utmost to avoid such an outcome."

"I will work the phaser, Sir, with you permission," Chekov said, looking at Kirk. "I have had good training with precision."

Kirk considered him. "If you think you can do it, go ahead."

Chekov sat down at his station with a nod and a slightly self-satisfied air. "We Russians have always been good at this kind of thing," he boasted. "Did you know the first –"

"Yes, yes, Ensign," Kirk said good-humoredly. "You can tell us about it later. He caught Sulu's eye and grinned. "Let's get this over with."

"Yes, Sir," Chekov said, then, biting his lip in concentration, he set to work.

Even though Kirk knew that their bringing back a piece of this wreckage was important, he couldn't muster the energy to be truly invested in it. So, when Chekov applied the first beam of energy to the floating fragment, Kirk was very calm. Chekov, on the other hand, looked tense, his face white with concentration.

But then the first cut was made, and then the second, and the third, and, finally, a sizeable yet manageable piece of the metal debris had been separated from the main body, and they set about dragging it in with the tractor beam.

For once, there were no complications.

The piece of metal safely onboard, Kirk decided it was time for him to get back to bed. He motioned to Spock, and the two of them left the Bridge together. Uhura's eyes followed them, none-too discreetly, until the turbolift doors closed and they were left alone once more.

There was a sudden awkwardness. The exhilaration of the first encounter had died down, and Kirk was sure Spock also had questions and concerns that were now making their way to the surface. Kirk looked at Spock, and the Vulcan looked back, a little tensely.

"Perhaps we could … talk," he said, somewhat lamely, but Kirk was for some reason very glad that Spock had made the request.

"Of course," Kirk readily agreed.

By mutual consent they moved back to Kirk's quarters. Once inside they faced each other, and a pressing silence ensued. Kirk didn't know how to begin asking all the questions he needed to ask, and Spock just looked uncomfortable.

Finally, it was Spock who started the conversation.

"Ensign Christopher," he said hesitatingly and unexpectedly.

Kirk felt a small, unpleasant jolt in his chest, but mostly he felt confused. Why would Spock bring him up now?

"I don't understand," he said.

Spock frowned. "He is your … You and he are … Are you not –"

"Together?" Kirk supplied, nonplussed. Then it hit him. "Oh!" he said, and a mixture of embarrassment and surprise coursed through him. "You think we're a couple!"

Spock didn't reply, but his expression confirmed Kirk's assumption.

Kirk actually laughed. "We're not," he said, shaking his head. "I never felt … It was never like that between us."

Spock's frown deepened. "You were intimate," he said, as if he needed to clarify this point.

"Yes," Kirk admitted. He felt unusually self-conscious all of a sudden. "But we're not anymore."

Spock appeared to scrutinize him for another moment, then he visibly relaxed. "I see," he said. "I apologize if –"

Kirk stepped forwards and grabbed his hand lightly. "Don't apologize, Spock," he said. He lifted the Vulcan's hand and pressed it lightly to his lips. Spock closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the touch.

But Kirk still had his own questions to ask, the most important of which he was hesitant to bring forwards, because he dreaded the answer. But there really wasn't anything for it, so, bringing Spock's hand down and letting it go, he arranged his face in a more serious expression. Spock looked at him with a small frown.

"Are you still set on leaving?" Kirk said abruptly, needing to get the question out as quickly as possible, as if that would have any bearing on the response.

Now Spock seemed suddenly self-conscious. His hands found their old haunt behind his back as he looked at Kirk with a slightly worried expression. "I was … hoping I would not have to," he said quietly.

Kirk felt a large part of his fear wash away, and he could feel his face light up. "So you want to stay?" he asked, needing this point to be very clear.

Spock looked at him earnestly. "Yes," he said, and his eyes twinkled, "Captain."

Kirk didn't need any more than that. Other questions and concerns could wait.

Spock would stay. Spock _wanted_ to stay.

Moving forwards, Kirk placed strong hands against the Vulcan's cheeks and pressed his lips firmly to Spock's.

Instantly, Spock's hands were at Kirk's hips, pulling him in.

Kirk felt a mixture of elation and exhaustion, but the former quickly and decidedly won out.

After all, he could sleep any time.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Did that make you happy? I really hope so. Given my general aversion to happy I feel quite extraordinarily generous in giving you some. This would be where I warn you not to expect too much of it, but that would be telling, so I'm going to keep my mouth shut. Sort of.

Remember, this is not the end! There is plenty of tension and drama to come. I am simply giving my much-tortured characters a brief respite.

So, bad news: this was the last chapter I had finished. Chapter 14 is in the works, but, sadly, I have no real estimate as to when it will be up. I've been swamped and uninspired lately, but I feel my muse returning, so I hope you start work on this again soon.

On an unrelated note: I like to keep the unsigned reviews option open, so that anyone who likes can leave reviews. However, if you feel the need to leave a disparaging review, please have the decency to sign it so that I can have the opportunity of responding. Leaving a nasty review unsigned makes you a coward and a loser. Just saying.


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